THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


An  Unconventional  Novel. 


IN   FETTERS: 


THE   MAN    OR  THE    PRIEST? 


BY 
THOMAS   KIRWAN. 


BOSTON: 

DE  WOLFE,  FISKE  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 
1893. 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY  THOMAS  KTRWAN. 
(All  Rights  Reserved.) 


PS 


INTRODUCTORY. 

I  have  called  my  novel  an  unconventional  one,  for  the 
reason  that  it  will  probably  not  interest  the  ordinary 
novel  reader  —  the  devourer  of  those  works  of  fiction 
which  rise  but  little  above  the  level  of  mere  family  or 
village  gossip,  but  which  in  some  cases  may  contain  cer 
tain  good  ideas  —  mostly  un virile  ones,  however — 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  generally  pander  to  the 
abnormal  longings  or  sensuous  appetites  of  the  class  of 
readers  for  which  they  are  written. 

This  work  is  not  for  such  frivolous  minds,  but  for 
thoughtful  people,  who  are  accustomed  to  regard  life 
more  as  a  drama  than  as  a  comedy  or  a  farce.  It  calls 
for  the  exercise  of  the  thinking  faculty,  and  will  be  of 
interest  to  earnest  people,  who  have,  often  paused  in  the 
whirl  and  turmoil,  in  the  disappointment  and  the  worry, 
of  life,  and  have  soberly  asked  themselves  such  questions 
as  these: 

What  is  the  world  in  which  we  live,  and  what  is  its 
relation  to  the  universe  ? 

What  is  life,  and  especially  human  life  ? 

What  are  we  here  for? 

What  is  our  mission? — have  we  any? — and  what  is 
our  destiny? 


894419 


iv  INTRODUCTORY. 

This  work  does  not  profess  to  answer  these  questions 
from  any  supernal  source  of  information  or  inspirational 
standpoint.  It  simply  aims  to  express  the  common 
thought  of  the  intelligent  people  of  this  age,  who  dare  to 
think  for  themselves,  in  protest  against  the  old  beliefs 
and  forms  of  religion  which  claim  special  divinity  of 
origin  and  authority,  and  to  help  such  free  thinkers  in 
the  consideration  of  the  problems  of  life.  In  doing  this 
it  will  illustrate  in  a  manner  the  travail  of  inquiry,  of 
discussion,  and  of  earnest,  honest,  and  intelligent  thought 
in  the  direction  whence  these  questions  tend. 

In  this  book,  though  one  creed  is  chosen  as  an  illustra 
tion  of  the  power  of  the  Christian  church  over  men's 
lives  and  conduct,  the  purpose  is  to  treat  all  existing 
creeds  and  beliefs  as  survivals  of  primitive  ignorance 
and  its  consequent  development  of  that  imaginative 
faculty  which  has  entered  so  largely  —  and  perhaps 
legitimately  —  into  the  psychological  constitution  of 
humanity. 

It  will  be  observed  that  most  of  my  characters  are 
honorable  and  high-minded  people,  as  the  world  goes; 
with  peculiar  views  of  life,  if  they  have  any;  some 
personal  oddities,  perhaps,  but  mostly  acting  according 
to  the  best  light  and  intelligence  which  they  have  — 
meaning  to  do  right,  in  their  way. 

I  have  a  constitutional  aversion  to  the  common  villain 
of  the  ordinary  novel  or  drama.  In  my  opinion,  if  good 
ness  and  uprightness  of  character  cannot  be  made 
striking  except  by  contrast  with  criminal  depravity  — 
that  is,  if  it  cannot  shine  by  its  own  light — it  amounts 
to  but  little.  I  have  never  found  the  conventional  villain 
in  real  life,  though  undoubtedly  there  are  vain  and  even 


INTRODUCTORY.  V 

wicked  men  to  be  found  on  occasion ;  but,  outside  the 
criminal  classes,  there  are  no  such  men  as  we  see  painted 
in  novels  and  exaggerated  on  the  stage,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  the  sooner  we  rid  our  literature  of  them  the 
better.  I  confess  to  a  dislike  to  such  people,  or  rather 
caricatures  of  people ;  have  never  studied  their  peculiari 
ties,  and  would  consider  it  in  as  bad  taste  to  introduce 
them  to  my  readers  as  I  would  to  present  a  man  whom 
I  knew  to  be  a  professional  thief  to  a  friend. 

My  characters  are  intended  to  be  natural,  and  to  act 
like  the  common  run  of  people,  who  are  experimental  in 
thought  if  not  in  act ;  who  are,  in  fact,  seeking,  like  most 
people,  to  make  the  best  of  life. 

In  regard  to  the  discussion  of  religious  matters  —  so 
called  —  I  aim  to  present  the  thoughts  of  people  who 
reason  about  them  in  perhaps  a  somewhat  crude,  but  at 
the  same  time  logical,  way.  Without  knowing  anything 
about  the  rules  of  inductive  philosophy,  they  yet — like 
the  person  who  can  write  good  and  even  elegant  English 
without  knowing  the  rules  of  grammar  —  reason  from 
analogical  bases  to  sensible  deductions. 

It  is  a  common  error  for  people  in  opposition  to  regard 
one  another  with  suspicion,  as  being  insincere,  dishonest, 
and  vicious.  This  I  conceive  to  be  not  the  right  method. 
The  man  who  honestly  doubts  the  divinity  of  Christ  or 
the  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures  may  be,  and  usually  is, 
quite  as  honest,  sincere,  and  virtuous  as  the  man  who 
believes  firmly  in  both.  The  fact  is,  we  are  what  we  are 
by  reason  of  the  conditions  which  environ  our  lives. 
These  may  impel  us  to  be  saints  or  sinners,  according  to 
what  they  are  and  the  material  which  we  furnish  them 
with. 


VI  INTRODUCTORY. 

The  growing  tendency  of  the  present  age,  so  far  as  I 
can  judge,  is  to  regard  religion  as  the  best  expression  of 
the  highest  social  development,  rather  than  as  being 
derived  from  some  source  or  influence  outside  of  and 
apart  from  humanity.  Whatever  'authority'  there  may 
be  in  the  churches  of  the  present  day,  or  of  any  and  all 
ages,  may  be  regarded  as  a  thing  having  its  origin  in 
humanity  itself,  and,  therefore,  that  all  church  regulation 
should  be  based  on  the  authority  whence  it  emanates  — 
that  of  the  people  constituting  the  churches.  This  is 
democratic  doctrine  in  politics  —  why  not  in  religion  ? 

THOMAS  KIEWAN. 
Boston,  Mass.,  June,  1893. 


IN  FETTERS: 

THE  MAN  OR  THE  PRIEST? 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCING    SOME  OF  THE    PRINCIPAL    CHARACTERS THE 

YOUTH,    THE    MAIDEN,    THE    UNRELENTING    FATHER. 

The  scene  of  this  opening  chapter  is  laid  in  a  maritime 
town  in  one  of  the  eastern  provinces  of  the  Dominion  of 
Canada,  but  at  the  time  this  narrative  begins  —  viz.,  1849 
— a  separate  province.  We  shall  call  the  town  Chebucto. 
This  place  was  and  is  an  agricultural  centre,  and  being 
situated  on  a  strait  in  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  with  a 
fairly  good  harbor,  enjoyed  a  moderate  share  of  com 
merce.  Among  its  earlier  industries  was  that  of  shipbuild 
ing,  which  at  one  time  had  been  carried  on  to  a  consid 
erable  extent,  but  at  the  time  in  question  only  two  men 
were  engaged  in  it,  their  building  yards  adjoining  on  the 
water  front.  These  men  kept  extensive  supply  stores, 
and  were,  in  many  respects,  rivals  in  business. 

Their  names  were  James  Warden  and  Richard  Gaston. 
They  were  both  quite  wealthy  for  that  section  of  country, 
and  were  doing  a  large  and  profitable  business,  not  only 
in  shipbuilding  but  in  merchandise.  They  each  owned 


8  IN  FETTERS: 

several  ships,  which  in  the  fall  they  loaded  with  oats,  and 
sent  to  England,  the  ships  on  return  bringing  merchandise, 
machinery,  etc.  When  not  engaged  in  this  business  of 
exchange,  these  vessels  traded  to  any  place  where  they 
could  obtain  charter,  or  carried  loads  of  deals  to  England. 

James  Warden,  as  the  name  would  indicate,  was  an 
Englishman,  and  in  religion  a  Roman  Catholic.  Richard 
Gaston  was  of  French  descent,  and  also  a  Roman  Catholic. 

The  latter  had  taken  for  wife  an  Irish  woman,  whose 
principal  attributes  were  piety,  affection,  and  goodness  of 
heart.  She  had  little  education,  but  any  one  knowing 
her  would  forget  this  lack  in  the  real  respect  she  inspired 
by  her  sincerity,  sweetness  of  disposition,  and  genuine 
good  nature. 

Curiouslv  enough  James  Warden  had  for  wife  a  wo- 

v  O 

man  of  French  descent,  her  maiden  name  Marie  Laroche, 
who  was  a  fine  speciman  of  her  race.  She  had  been  edu 
cated  in  a  convent,  and  was  intelligent,  vivacious,  and, 
what  is  rare  in  these  modern  days,  an  obedient  and  duti 
ful  wife.  Indeed  her  husband's  wish  or  will  was  a  thing 
she  never  dreamed  of  disputing.  This  couple  had  an  only 
child,  a  daughter  named  Agnes,  who  at  the  time  this  story 
opens  was  eighteen  years  of  age.  She  was  tall,  straight 
as  an  arrow,  with  a  well-developed  form,  and  the  face  of 
an  Evangeline — beautiful,  but  with  a  pensive  expression 
in  it.  Richard  Gaston  had  two  sons,  Thomas  and  Richard. 
The  former,  at  the  time  our  tale  begins,  was  twenty-four 
years  of  age, and  had  then  been  some  two  years  in  'the 
States,'  —  at  Boston,  in  fact,  —  pursuing  his  studies. 
Richard,  who  was  now  twenty-two,  decided  to  remain 
at  home — though  offered  a  college  course  —  preferring 
a  business  career  to  a  professional  one. 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  9 

He  was  a  tall,  manly  fellow,  with  a  wealth  of  curly 
chestnut  hair,  covering  the  head  of  an  Apollo.  He  had 
received  a  fairly  good  academy  education,  and  was  quick 
and  intelligent  in  business  matters.  He  was  earnest, 
honest,  sincere,  and  was  withal  blest  with  a  bright,  sunny 
disposition  that  sought  only  cheerfulness.  His  mother, 
Mrs.  Gaston,  had  often  importuned  Richard  to  go  to  col 
lege  and  study  for  the  priesthood.  '  We've  had  priests 
in  our  family,'  she  said — she  was  a  Brady —  'for  ages,  and 
it  would  be  the  glory  of  my  soul  to  see  one  of  my  sons  in 
that  most  holy  order  of  Christ's  disciples.'  But  the  son 
invariably  shook  his  head  and  replied:  '  Mother,  I  am  not 
cut  out  for  the  church.  I  am  not  good  enough.  My  de 
sires  and  my  ambition  are  all  too  worldly.  Try  Tom.' 

The  fact  was  that  Richard  Gaston  had  in  view  a  secu 
lar  life,  in  the  business  of  which  Agnes  Warden  was  to 
be  the  partner.  He  had  known  Agnes  from  her  infancy 
and  had  always  loved  her. 

His  father  and  her's  had  formerly  been  warm  friends, 
but  that  friendship  had  been  broken  for  some  years,  and 
while  he  had  not  formally  forbidden  the  visits  of  Richard 
Gaston  to  his  house,  Mr.  Warden  looked  upon  them  with 
growing  disfavor.  The  former's  visits  to  Agnes  were  of 
almost  daily  occurrence,  and  these  usually  in  the  sum 
mer  season  ended  in  an  evening  stroll  along  the  street 
leading  by  the  water  side  out  to  a  hill  or  cliff  overlooking 
the  sea,  where  the  lovers,  seated  on  a  boulder,  would  talk 
of  the  future  and  lay  plans,  as  lovers  often  do,  plans  never 
to  be  realized. 

It  was  a  Saturday  evening  in  August.  The  day  was 
unusually  warm,  but  the  evening  brought  in  the  cool  and 
refreshing  sea  breeze,  which  made  existence  once  more 


10  IN  FETTERS: 

an  enjoyment.  Richard  went,  as  usual  in  the  evening  to 
see  Agnes,  and  invite  her  out  to  enjoy  the  evening  air. 
She  donned  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  the  two  lovers 
walked  slowly  toward  their  trysting  place.  But  Agnes, 
during  this  walk,  was  unusually  silent,  or  only  answered 
Richard's  vivacious  questions  and  talk  in  monosyllables 
or  with  a  sad  smile  on  her  face. 

lie  noticed  this  unusual  preoccupation  and  was  puzzled 
to  comprehend  it,  for  though  never  demonstrative,  Agnes 
was  usually  frank  and  cheerful,  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
every  moment  of  the  time  spent  in  her  lover's  company. 
But  he  made  no  remark  about  it  until  the  trysting  place 
was  reached,  where,  after  seating  themselves,  he  said : 

'Agnes,  you  seem  sad  tonight.     Has  anything  hap 
pened  to  make  you  unhappy?     Havel — 
Instead  of  replying,  Agnes  burst  into  tears. 
'  Why  —  what  is  it,  dear  girl  ?     Speak  to  me  ? ' 
With  an  effort  she  calmed  herself,  and  said : 
'  Richard  —  Dick  —  I  am  afraid  that  there  is  going  to 
be  trouble  for  us.     Mother  tells  me  that  father  has  threat 
ened  to  forbid  your  coming  to  the  house,  and  also  to  for 
bid  me  to  keep  company  with  you  any  longer.' 

'  What  have  I  done  to  merit  his  displeasui-e,  Agnes  ? ' 
'Nothing.  It  is  simply  on  account  of  his  unfriendli 
ness  to  your  father.  I  understand  that  they  had  some  hot 
words  today — this  forenoon  —  and  at  dinner  time  father 
told  mother  that  he  would  never  have  a  Gaston  in  his 
family,  which  means  —  oh,  you  know  what  it  means  to 
us,  Dick ! ' 

'  But  shall  I  be  treated  as  an  enemy  because  my  father 
is  so  regarded  by  your's  ?  Are  we  to  share  our  parents' 
dislikes  and  prejudices?  This  woiild  be  as  senseless  as 


THE    MA^    OR    THE    PRIEST?  ll 


it  would  be  wicked.  It  is  monstrous  !  It  would  be  like 
going  back  to  the  savage  usages  of  barbarous  ages.' 

1  My  father  is  a  very  determined  man,  Dick,  and  when 
he  makes  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing  he  will  do  it.  lie 
may  at  any  moment  forbid  me  to  see  you  again  as  a  lover.' 

'  And  would  you  obey  such  a  command  ?  ' 

'  I  would  be  bound  to.  He  is  my  father,  and  has  the 
right  to  command  my  obedience.' 

'Would  you  not  leave  your  home  for  my  love  ?  I  can 
offer  you  as  good  a  home  as  the  one  you  would  leave.' 

Her  breast  heaved  with  a  fierce  conflict  of  feeling.  He 
watched  her  closely,  and  with  an  anxious,  beating  heart 
awaited  her  decision.  She  was  like  one  tempest-tossed 
in  a  sea  of  emotion,  and  could  not  speak.  In  the  hope 
to  urge  a  favorable  decision  he  said  : 

'Agnes,  my  love,  do  not  for  God's  sake  decide  against 
me  !  Let  me  see  your  father,  and  try  if  I  cannot  soften 
him.  At  least  let  us  wait  until  he  actually  forbids  you 
to  keep  company  with  me.' 

She  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  said,  simply,  '  I  will,' 
and  the  despondent  and  now'silent  lovers  took  their  way 
homeward,  and  parted  with  a  whispered  'good-bye.' 

The  following  day  —  Sunday  —  the  sun  rose  in  a  clear 
sky,  and  all  things  in  nature  seemed  to  feel  the  inspira 
tion  of  its  glowing  influence.  As  the  time  for  attendance 
at  church  drew  near,  Richard  Gaston,  as  was  his  custom, 
stationed  himself  at  a  point  on  the  route  of  the  Wardens 
churchward  —  they  usually  walked,  as  did  the  other  vil 
lagers.  It  was  at  this  place,  under  the  eye  of  her  parents, 
that  it  was  his  wont  to  meet  her  and  walk  with  her  after 
them  to  the  church,  which  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant,  on  the  highest  elevation  in  the  town. 


12  nv  FETTERS: 

He  had  not  been  at  his  post  more  than  five  minutes 
when  the  Wardens  came  along.  As  they  approached 
him  Richard  raised  his  hat,  and  bade  them  a  respectful 
'  good  morning.'  To  his  astonishment  his  salutation  was 
not  noticed  by  Mr.  Warden  or  his  wife,  though  the  latter 
looked  pityingly  at  the  young  man,  as  if  she  longed  to 
say  a  kind  word  to  him  but  dared  not,  while  Agnes, 
instead  of  falling  to  the  rear  to  join  him,  kept  her  place 
between  her  father  and  mother.  But  her  eyes  told  him 
plainly  that  her  position  and  refusal  to  accompany  him 
were  not  of  her  own  choice,  and  he  fancied  he  could  see 
tears  in  them. 

The  blow  had  come  sooner  than  he  expected,  and  he 
reeled  under  it  as  if  it  were  a  stunning  physical  infliction. 
For  a  moment  his  head  swam  around,  and  he  staggered 
to  the  fence,  where  he  supported  himself,  his  head  droop 
ing  on  his  arm.  In  this  position  Mrs. Warden,  who  had  a 
woman's  curiosity  to  look  back  as  they  turned  up  the  street 
to  the  church,  saw  him,  and  her  heart  was  smote  with 
pity  for  the  young  man,  but  she  made  no  remark,  and 
went  forward  to  church. 

Richard  Gaston  had  pride  as  well  as  feeling,  and  after 
the  first  effects  of  the  shock  had  passed  away,  this  pride 
took  possession  of  him,  and  he  said  to  himself:  'Why 
should  I  be  cast  down  by  this  unjust  and  undeserved 
treatment  from  a  man  I  have  never  wronged,  and  have 
always  treated  with  respect?  I  will  show  him  that  I  am 
not  a  lout  to  cry  and  act  like  a  fool  because  he  refuses 
to  let  his  daughter  walk  with  me.  I  will  show  them  all 
that  I  am  not  cast  down  ! '  and  straightening  himself  up 
he  started  for  the  church  by  a  short  cut,  and  arrived  there 
before  the  Wardens,  who  kept  on  the  street.  He  was  not 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PillEST?  13 

aware  that  Mrs.  Warden  had  seen  Ids  despairing  attitude 
beside  the  fence. 

The  Warden  and  Gaston  families,  being  the  wealthiest 
people  in  the  town,  had  the  two  front  pews.  Agnes,  how 
ever,  who  had  a  fine  soprano  voice,  sang  in  the  choir,  and 
Richard  was  also  a  member,  singing  a  tenor  part.  This 
day,  however,  instead  of  going  up  to  the  gallery  where 
the  choir  was  located,  he  took  a  seat  in  his  father's 
pew,  and  there,  much  to  their  surprise — especially 
to  that  of  Mrs.  Warden — the  Wardens  found  him  seated 
when  they  reached  their  pew. 

Services  over,  young  Gaston  was  among  the  first  to 
leave  the  church.  He  went  out  into  the  bye  streets,  to 
commune  in  solitude  with  his  thoughts.  He  had  a  hard 
struggle  between  love  and  pride.  Love  so  far  conquered 
that  he  determined  to  ask  his  mother's  advice,  and,  if 
she  would  consent,  have  her  in  some  way  intercede  for 
him,  though  he  could  not  see  how  she  would  be  able  to 
afford  him  any  assistance ;  but  a  frantic  lover,  like  a 
drowning  man,  will  grasp  at  straws. 

He  returned  home,  and  after  dinner,  of  which  he  ate 
but  little,  he  beckoned  to  his  mother,  and  whispered 
that  he  wanted  to  have  a  private  talk  with  her.  She  took 
him  to  her  room,  where  he  told  her  all  that  had  taken 
place,  even  to  the  repulse  of  that  morning. 

4 1  wondered,'  she  said,  '  why  you  did  not  go  up  to  the 
choir  today,  and  this  accounts  for  it.  Dick,  my  dear  boy, 
I  pity  you ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  help  you  so  long 
as  your  father  and  Mr.  Warden  are  bad  friends.  I  think 
we'd  better  call  your  father  in  and  tell  him  all.  He  is 
quick  tempered,  I  know,  and  may  have  been  outspoken 
to  Warden,  who  has  been  using  very  mean  artifices  to 


14  IN"  FETTEKS: 

take  trade  from  our  store.  Your  father  loves  you,  my 
son,  and  would  I  am  sure  make  any  sacrifice  to  secure 
your  happiness.' 

Mr.  Gaston  was  then  called  in,  and  made  acquainted 
with  the  condition  of  affairs.  He  was  a  sensible,  honor 
able  man,  but  of  high  spirit  and  quick  temper.  He  had 
an  affectionate  nature,  and  loved  his  sons  so  strongly 
that  he  was  prepared  to  assist  them  in  all  proper  ways ; 
but  if  he  loved  one  better  than  the  other  it  was  Richard. 

When  he  heard  it  all,  he  paused  for  a  while,  in  deep 
thought.  Then  he  said : 

'  Dick,  my  boy,  I  regret  that  your  affair  with  Agnes 
has  gone  so  far,  though  she  is  a  grand  good  girl,  worthy 
to  be  wife  of  the  best  man  in  the  province.  I  would  be 
glad  to  see  her  your  wife,  and  both  of  you  settled  for  life. 
I  would  also  like  to  be  once  again  friendly  with  James 
Warden,  and  would  willingly  let  bygones  be  bygones,  for 
both  your  sakes ;  but  I  know  enough  of  human  nature 
as  it  is  exemplified  in  that  man  to  feel  that  this  can  never 
be.  When  a  man  injures  you,  you  may  forgive  him  — 
but  will  he  forgive  you  ?  Warden  will  not  forgive  me 
because  he  has  injured  me ;  that  is  now  the  trouble.' 

'  Father,' said  Richard,  'I  understand  your 'point.  If 
he  were  a  true  Christian  he'd  forgive ;  but  as  he's  not  the 
injured  party  he  will  not.  But  he  is  doubly  mean  in 
thus  extending  his  enmity  to  me,  to  wreck  my  life.' 

'  Dick,'  said  his  mother,  '  are  you  so  set  upon  having 
Agnes  that  you  cannot  give  her  up  ?  There  are  other 
good  girls  in  Chebucto  that  you  might  have  for  the — ' 

'  Mother,'  he  interrupted,  '  if  I  cannot  have  Anges,  I 
will  have  no  other  woman  —  I  will  never  marry ! '  He 
said  this  sadly,  but  in  a  tone  of  determination, 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  15 

'  Well,  Dick,  if  you  don't  get  her,  and  will  not  marry, 
why  can't  you '  — 

'  Stop,'  said  the  elder  Gaston,  who  divined  that  she 
was  going  to  revive  the  idea  of  his  becoming  a  priest. 
'  It  will  be  time  enough  to  talk  of  that  later  on,  for,  as  you 
both  know,  I  do  not  favor  such  a  step.  I  have  a  good 
business,  which  Dick  understands  thoroughly,  and  which 
he  can  have  when  I'm  called  away.  Tom  has  no  head 
for  business,  and  if  Dick  should  go  away,  he  could  not  be 
induced  to  leave  Boston  and  come  home  to  the  unevent 
ful  life  of  this  quiet  village.  On  the  other  hand  Dick  is 
just  suited  for  this  life,  and  could  be  happy  here  if  he 
would  be  contented.  Well,  we  shall  see  what  may  be  done. 
What  do  you  now  propose  to  do  in  the  matter?'  he 
asked,  turning  to  Richard. 

'  My  impulse  is  to  see  Mr.  Warden  and  ask  him  for 
Agnes  —  to  -plead  with  him  for  her,  if  need  be.' 

'  I  fear  he  will  only  insult  you.  But,  as  it  will  bring 
matters  to  a  focus,  perhaps  it.  is  the  best  thing  you 
can  do.  Let  me  advise  you,  however,  not  to  lose  your 
temper,  even  if  he  should  insult  you.  The  man  who 
loses  his  temper  is  always  at  the  mercy  of  his  opponent. 
Besides,  his  age,  if  nothing  more,  calls  for  your  respect. 
Talk  plainly  to  him,  but  not  offensively,  and  no  matter 
what  he  says  to  you,  leave  him  with  a  respectful,  unruffled 
demeanor.' 

'It  may  be  a  hard  thing  to  do,  if  he  is  abusive — and 
especially  if  he  should  begin  to  abuse  you,  father — but 
I  will  treat  him  with  respect,  for  Agnes'  sake  as  well  as 
your  sake  and  my  own  dignity,'  said  Richard,  and  thus 
the  conference  ended. 


16  IN  FETTERS: 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MR.  WARDEN. 'AGNES  CAN    NEVER 

BE    YOUR    WIFE!' 'MOTHER,  I    AM    READY!' 

The  morning  succeeding  the  events  narrated,  Richard 
Gaston  entered  the  store  of  James  Warden.  The  latter 
saw  him  coming,  and  went  into  his  private  office.  He 
no  doubt  guessed  the  purpose  of  this  visit,  and  wished  it 
to  be  private. 

Ascertaining  that  the  merchant  was  in  his  office,  the 
young  man  knocked,  and  in  response  to  the  'come  in'  of 
the  occupant,  entered.  He  was  agitated,  but  once  inside, 
and  noting  the  cold  and  even  contemptuous  look  which 
answered  his  respectful  salutation,  his  native  coolness  of 
manner  came  to  his  aid  like  an  inspiration,  and  he  stood 
before  Mr.  Warden  as  self-possessed  as  if  his  errand  were 
one  of  ordinary  every- day  business. 

'Mr.  Warden,'  he  said,  'I  come  to  have  some  private 
talk  with  you  about  a  matter  which  deeply  concerns  me 
as  well  as  one  who  is  dear  to  you.' 

'  Indeed !  And  pray  how  do  you  know  that  it  deeply 
concerns  the  one  you  speak  of?'  asked  the  merchant,  with 
a  sneer. 

'Pardon  me,  sir,'  said  the  young  man,  'but  I  think  I 
have  good  reason  for  that  statement.  However,  I  have 
not  come  to  enter  into  any  controversy.  All  I  ask  of 
you  is  a  patient  and  friendly  hearing,  which  I  think  a 
long  acquaintance  with  me  and  a  full  knowledge  of  my 
character  and  habits — I  have  grown  from  a  child  under 
your  eye,  sir  —  warrant  me  in  expecting  from  you.' 


THE    MAX    OR    THE    PRIEST?  17 

The  merchant  made  no  reply,  and  Richard,  accepting 
this  as  an  assent,  in  a  manly  and  straightforward  manner 
told  the  tale  of  his  love  and  courtship  of  Agnes,  a  court 
ship  which  had  been  carried  on  with  the  knowledge  and 
tacit  consent  of  both  her  parents  as  well  as  of  his,  and 
pleaded  eloquently  that  as  they  loved  one  another  it 
would  be  cruel  to  separate  them. 

Mr.  Warden,  who  was  an  imperious  man,  did  hear  him 
through,  much  to  his  own  surprise ;  but,  when  the  young 
man  concluded,  he  said,  in  a  harsh  tone: 

'After  this  fine  talk,  I  suppose  you  want  my  decision  ?' 

'I  do,  sir.' 

'You  shall  have  it  without  equivocation:  Agnes  can 
never  be  your  wife ! ' 

'  Sir —  Mr.  Warden  —  can  you  mean  this?' 

'I  do  mean  it — so  make  up  your  mind  to  accept  it  as  a 
final  answer.' 

'Have  I  ever  said  or  done  aught  to  offend  you,  sir?' 

'You  have  not;  but  your  father  has,  and  one  of  his  blood 
shall  never  mingle  with  my  race,  if  I  can  help  it.' 

The  blood  mounted  to  Richard's  brow,  arid  then  the 
flush  was  succeeded  by  a  deathlike  paleness.  But  though 
his  emotions  were  almost  overpowering,  he  mastered 
them.  Then,  he  said,  looking  full  in  Warden's  eye : 

'Sir,  your  unjust  determination  may  wreck  one  if  not 
two  lives  —  God  forgive  you! 'and  turning  on  his  heel  he 
rapidly  left  the  place. 

As  he  passed  up  the  street  towards  his  father's  place  of 
business  he  encountered  Agnes,  who  was  on  the  watch  to 
learn  of  the  result  of  his  mission.  She  saw  by  the  expres 
sion  of  his  face  that  her  father  had  rejected  and  perhaps 
insulted  him. 


18  IK   FETTEKS: 

'Dick — Mr.  Gaston  —  I  know  by  your  face  that  my 
father  has  refused  you.  O  God!  what  shall  I  say  or  do?: 

'lie  not  only  told  me  that  you  can  never  be  my  wife 
but  insulted  me  through  his  enmity  to  my  father.' 

'I  hope  you  said  nothing  in  anger  to  him,  in  return,' 
said  Agnes. 

'  I  said  nothing  worse  than  that  he  had  wrecked  one  if 
not  two  lives  by  his  decision,  and  that  I  hoped  God 
would  forgive  him  for  it.' 

'  That  was  noble,  Richard.  Ah  me !  what  shall  become 
of  me?  We  must  part,  Richard.  While  my  father  lives 
he  will  never  consent  to  our  union.  I  know  him  well 
enough  for  that.  Try  and  forget  me,  Richard.  There 
are  others  — 

'None  for  me,  Agnes,'  was  the  passionate  exclamation. 
'If  I  cannot  have  you,  I  want  no  other  woman  for  wife. 
But,  Agnes,'  and  here  his  voice  assumed  a  pleading  tone, 
'can  you  not  decide  for  yourself,  as  it  most  concerns  you? 
If  we  should  get  married  your  father  would  in  time  for 
give  you — 

'Never — never!  O,Dick,  I  know  him  too  well  to  hope 
for  such  a  thing.  He  would  curse  me  while  living  and 
on  his  dying  bed,  and  I  could  never  be  happy  under  such 
conditions.  It  is  out  of  the  question.' 

'  Then  you  would  give  up  your  love  and  hope  of  life  at 
the  behest  of  an  angry  and  unforgiving  parent.  Agnes, 
think  well  what  you  are  deciding.' 

'I  have  thought  it  all  over,  Dick,  and  have  spent  two 
sleepless  and  tearful  nights  thinking  of  it.  My  resolution 
is  taken:  I  cannot  marry  you  against  my  father's  wishes.' 

'This  is  your  final  decision,  then?  Is  there  no  hope  of 
your  changing  it?' 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  19 

'None,  Dick,  none,'  she  said,  sadly.  'I  have  some  of 
my  father's  dogged  nature  in  me,  I  suppose.  At  any  rate 
I  will  not  marry  without  his  consent,  or  during  his  life 
time.'  Her  voice  quivered  with  emotion,  though  she 
managed  to  maintain  an  outwardly  calm  demeanor. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  wringing  them,  said : 
'Agnes,  you're  an  angel!  God  bless  you,  and  God  help  us 
both  to  bear  the  burden  of  life,  made  heavy  to  us  by  no 
fault  of  our's ! '  He  turned  away  from  her,  and,  instead 
of  going  to  his  father's  store,  started  in  the  direction  of 
his  home. 

His  mother  saw  his  approach,  and  stood  in  the  door 
way  to  "meet  him.  She  read  his  disappointment  in  his 
face,  and  led  him  into  the  sitting  room. 

'My  poor  boy ! '  she  said,  '  I  see  that  you  have  met  with 
a  refusal,  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a  cruel  one.' 

'It  was  cold  and  cruel,  mother,'  he  sobbed,  his  head  on 
her  breast. 

'  Well,  it  may  not  be  so  bad,  after  all.  Agnes  may 
brave  his  wrath,  and  — 

'No  hope  for  that,  mother.  I  saw  her  after  the  inter 
view,  and  urged  her  to  take  that  step,  but  she  positively 
refused.  She  said  she  would  never  marry  without  her 
father's  consent,  and  she  knew  he  would  never  consent  to 
our  union  while  he  lived.  Her  decision  is  irrevocable. ' 

Richard,  after  the  paroxysm  of  his  emotion  had  spent 
itself,  arose  and  paced  the  floor  for  a  minute  or  two. 
Then  he  approached  his  mother  and  said: 

'  Mother,  I  am  ready ! ' 

She  divined  his  meaning,  but  instead  of  feeling  rejoiced 
at  his  decision,  a  pang  shot  through  her  heart,  and  she 
could  not  find  words  to  reply. 


20  IN  FETTERS: 

'I  will  go  to  college,  mother,  and  become  a  priest!' 

'O,  Richard!'  was  all  she  could  say,  and  then,  as  if 
realizing  that  perhaps  it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do 
under  the  circumstance,  rose  and  embraced  him,  saying, 
fervently : 

' God  bless  you,  my  son.  The -holy  profession  of  the 
priesthood  will  not  only  enable  you  to  aid  and  comfort 
those  who  are  unhappy  like  yourself,  but  will  bring  you 
happiness  in  time  by  making  you  forget  your  own  troubles. 
The  church  will  open  to  you  a  new  world  of  thought  and 
effort,  give  you  a  noble  work  to  do  in  this  life,  and  a  happy 
reward  in  the  next.' 

When  Mr.  Gaston  learned  of  his  son's  determination 
he  was  far  from  pleased.  'Dick,'  he  said,  'you  are  more 
fitted  for  business  than  for  the  priesthood.  You  have 
a  business  head,  but  not  a  priestly  one.  What  I  mean  is, 
you  can  be  more  benefit  to  the  world  as  a  merchant  or  a 
manufacturer  than  as  a  priest.  You  have  brains  —  a  priest 
needs  none,  or  next  to  none.  You  have  a  capacity  for 
social  enjoyment,  while  a  priest  looks  mostly  to  the 
enjoyment  of  eating  and  drinking.  You  are  too  acute  a 
reasoner,  I  think,  to  believe  what  you  do  not  understand, 
and  too  conscientious  to  teach  what  you  do  not  believe.  I 
don't  say  that  priests  do  this,  as  a  rule,  but  my  impression 
is  that  many  of  them  do.  A  priest,  unless  he  be  a  really 
able  and  honest  man,  would  better  be"  a  nonentity  —  a 
mere  dealer  in  the  ritual  matters  pertaining  to  religion  ; 
one  who  will  obey  his  superiors  without  question,  and  get 
along  as  smoothly  as  he  can.' 

'  You  do  not  seem  to  have  a  high  opinion  of  church 
men,  father,  and  you  may  be  right  from  your  standpoint. 
But  circumstances  have  impelled  me  to  make  this  choice, 


THE    MAN   OR    THE    PEIEST?  21 

and  perhaps  it  is  as  good  as  any  other.  You  will  admit 
that,  after  what  has  just  occurred,  I  cannot  remain  here. 
I  might  go  to  Boston,  where  Tom  is,  and  become  like  him, 
a  free  thinker.  How  would  you  like  that,  father'?' 

'I  would  rather  see  you  a  free  thinker  and  an  honest 
man  than  a  cardinal  and  a  hypocrite,  Dick ;  though  I  have 
faith  in  you  to  believe  that  you  will  never  profess  one  thing 
while  you  believe  in  another.  Your  brother  Tom,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  has  left  the  faith  of  his  fathers,  but  he  is 
honest  and  truthful,  and  these  are  qualities  which  I  believe 
to  be  essential  to  true  manhood.  However,  as  you  say, 
you  cannot  remain  here,  for  a  time  at  least,  after  what  has 
occurred.  If  your  wooing  had  resulted  differently,  I  inten 
ded  taking  you  into  partnership.  A  year's  absence  at  col 
lege  may  bring  a  change  in  your  feeling,  and  perhaps  you 
would  better  take  a  course.  Where  do  you  desire  to  go 
—  to  what  college?' 

'As  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  study  for  the  priest 
hood,  I  would  like  to  go  to  the  Jesuit  college  atMontreal.' 

'Very  well.  Be  it  as  you  wish;  only  promise  me  this: 
that  you  will  not  seek  for  ordination  until  you  are  perfectly 
sure  you  shall  like  the  new  profession.' 

'I  will  promise  that,'  was  the  response,  and  thus  the 
interview  ended. 

Preparations  for  the  departure  of  Richard  Gaston  for 
college  were  soon  completed,  and  as  it  was  but  a  short 
time  until  the  opening  of  the  fall  term,  he  tried  to  forget 
his  present  troubles  in  assisting  his  father  in  putting  the 
account  books  of  the  business  into  good  shape. 

Richard  had  been  a  steady  young  man,  and  saving  of 
the  salary  allowed  him  by  his  father,  so  he  had  money 
enough  of  his  own  to  bear  his  college  expenses,  and  even 


22  IN    FETTEKS: 

more.  Then  he  had  been  given  a  small  interest  in  two 
of  the  ships  recently  built  by  his  father,  and  as  these  had 
been  sold  in  the  English  market  at  good  prices,  there 
was  an  amount  of  some  six  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
sterling  which  he  would  get  when  the  money  was 
received  from  the  old  country. 

The  sudden  determination  of  Richard  Gaston  to  give 
up  the  succession  to  his  father's  business  and  become  a 
priest,  together  with  the  cause  of  this  change,  were  not 
long  in  finding  their  way  to  the  gossips  of  the  town,  and 
of  course  set  their  tongues  wagging.  But  of  this  he 
knew  little  or  nothing,  and  cared  less. 

During  the  time  intervening  between  the  formation  of 
his  resolution  and  his  departure  for  college,  Richard  saw 
nothing  of  the  Wardens;  but  he  met  the  young  people  of 
the  other  families  of  the  village,  and  on  the  eve  of  his 
departure  most  of  them,  together  with  their  parents, 
called  upon  him  to  wish  him  God-speed;  for,  though 
more  sedate  than  the  general  run  of  young  men,  there 
was  nothing  'stuck  up'  about  him,  and  he  was  popular 
with  both  old  and  young. 

The  day  of  departure  came.  The  stage  coach  stopped 
at  the  door  of  the  Gaston  house  to  take  him  away,  and 
while  the  driver  was  putting  on  the  trunks,  Richard  was 
in  the  sitting  room  with  his  father  and  mother  saying 
parting  .words  and  receiving  advice  and  encouragement. 
When  the  announcement  came  that  all  was  ready  for 
the  start,  his  mother  put  her  arms  about  him,  and  after 
embracing  and  kissing  him  affectionately,  said: 

'God  in  his  goodness  bless  you  my  dear  son  and  make 
you  an  ornament  to  the  church  and  a  pride  to  your 
parents ! ' 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  23 

His  father  kissed  him  affectionately  and  said : 
'Write  often,  Dick,  and  let  me  know  not  only  how 
you  are  progressing,  but  how  you  are  feeling  in  the  new 
path  which  you  have  chosen.     Good  bye,  and  God  bless 
you!' 

Richard  wrung  the  hands  of  his  parents,  and  with  an 
affectionate  adieu,  mingled  with  tears,  he  rushed  out  of 
the  home  of  his  childhood  and  mounted  the  stage  coach, 
which  started  off  at  a  lively  pace.  He  saw  an  unusual 
number  of  his  young  friends  on  the  street,  all  of  whom 
shouted  or  waved  him  an  adieu,  and  when  he  looked 
back  to  the  old  home,  he  there  saw  his  father  and  mother 
at  the  door,  watching  him  out  of  sight,  the  latter  waving 
him  adieu  with  her  handkerchief. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PEDAGOGUE     CLUNEY    AND     TOM     GASTON. TOM'S    VIEWS 

ON   RELIGION,  AND    GROWING    SCEPTICISM. 

John  Cluney  was  a  bachelor,  a  gentleman  and  a 
scholar.  He  was  about  forty  years  of  age  at  the  time  our 
story  begins.  He  was  nephew  of  Father  Tom  McMahon 
parish  priest  of  Chebucto,  and  second  master  of  the  Che- 
bucto  Academy — now  a  college  —  and  taught  mathe 
matics,  philosophy,  Latin  and  Greek,  and  other  advanced 
studies  of  a  high  or  normal  school. 

Master  Cluney  would  be  counted  a  fair-looking  man, 
even  though  he  had  red  hair  and  plain  features,  if  his 
eyes  were  not  set  obliquely  in  his  head.  Both  were 


24  IN  FETTERS: 

askew,  and  inclined  inward,  so  that  when  he  looked  at 
any  object,  he  had  to  focus  them  on  it.  In  reading,  he 
held  the  book  so  that  the  lines  were  nearly  perpendicular. 
This  peculiarity  of  vision  was  quite  noticeable  on  first 
acquaintance,  and  indeed  was  difficult  to  overcome  on 
closer  acquaintance. 

But  if  John  Cluney  was  not  prepossessing  in  appear 
ance,  he  was  a  man  to  be  esteemed  and  respected  on 
acquaintance.  He  was  a  fine  scholar,  and  a  man  of  brains 
and  culture  far  above  his  surroundings.  He  loved  books 
and  was  a  great  reader  —  an  omnivorous  one,  indeed,  for 
nothing  in  the  way  of  literature  came  amiss  to  him. 

He  was  of  Irish  birth  and  education,  like  his  uncle,  the 
priest,  and  his  speech  had  a  certain  virility  of  articulation 
which  might  be  called  rough,  but  you  would  soon  forget 
this  and  even  see  in  it  a  fitness  for  expressing  the  sturdy 
masculine  thoughts  of  the  speaker.  He  was  an  earnest 
man,  and  rarely  indulged  in  trifling  talk,  though,  on 
occasion,  he  would  perpetrate  a  pun,  and  chuckle  over  it. 

Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason,  added  to  his  peculiar 
appearance  that  he  did  not  shine  in  female  society.  Per 
haps,  also,  his  great  love  of  books  and  of  study  made  him 
prefer  such  companionship  to  the  company  of  the  young 
ladies  of  the  town,  few  of  whom  were  highly  educated 
and  fewer  still  possessed  any  literary  taste. 

As  a  pedagogue,  John  Cluney  was  a  success.  He  was 
a  strict  disciplinarian  in  school  —  a  hard  master  to  boys 
who  tried  to  shirk  their  tasks  or  were  dull.  He  called 
them  'dolts.'  To  the  boys  who  took  an  interest  in  their 
work  he  was  kind,  sympathetic  and  helpful. 

With  such  qualities  it  was  no  wonder  that,  notwith 
standing  his  peculiarities,  he  commanded  the  respect  and 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PEIEST?  25 

even  love  of  his  pupils ;  for  even  the  '  dolts '  could  see 
that  his  severity  was  exercised  for  their  benefit. 

One  of  Master  Cluney's  favorite  pupils  was  Thomas 
Gaston  — Tom,  he  called  him.  Tom's  ambition,  like  that 
of  many  another  smart  young  provincial,  had  led  him,  a 
year  and  a  half  before  the  opening  of  our  story,  to  go  to 
Boston,  that  Mecca  of  all  downeasters,  to  study  for  the 
profession  of  medicine.  After  a  preparatory  course,  he 
entered  the  medical  department  of  Harvard  College, 
which  was  then,  and  for  some  years  later,  located  on 
Grove  street,  and  among  whose .  preceptors  was  Prof. 
John  W.  Webster,  whose  murder  of  Dr.  George  Parkman 
on  Nov.  23,  1849,  caused  such  a  profound  sensation 
throughout  New  England,  and  for  which  the  professor 
was  hanged  on  the  20th  of  August  following. 

While  pursuing  his  medical  studies  in  Boston,  Tom 
Gaston  maintained  a  regular  and  not  infrequent  corre 
spondence  with  his  old  preceptor,  who  in  turn  was 
prompt  in  reply  and  quite  generous  in  the  amount  of  his 
matter.  Tom  Gaston  was  frankness  itself  in  his  commu 
nications  to  his  friend. 

His  letters  were  a  faithful  chart  of  the  development  of 
his  mind,  especially  on  matters  pertaining  to  religion. 

Like  most  young  men  who  are  'born  into'  a  mode  of 
religious  belief,  he  was  restless  at  the  restraint  enjoined 
against  free  inquiry  about  matters  of  belief  and  of  relig 
ious  doctrine.  The  reason  given  as  to  why  he  should 
not  question  the  absolute  right  of  the  Catholic  church  to 
decide  on  all  matters  of  faith — that  he  should  not  set 
up  his  own  judgement  against  the  decisions  or  dicta  of 
the  church  —  was  not  satisfying  to  him. 

Then  he  could  not  admit  the  sense  or  justice   of  the 


26  IN  FETTERS: 

condemnation  of  other  Christian  sects  by  the  church, 
nor  could  he  understand  why  a  young  man  in  all  other 
respects  like  himself  should  be  condemned  because  he  did 
not  believe  in  the  Catholic  church  and  the  infallibility  of 
the  Pope,  its  supreme  head,  especially  when  that  young 
man  had  been  born  of  Protestant  parentage,  and  was 
brought  up  a  Protestant. 

If  Protestants  and  other  sects  were  wrong,  why  did 
not  the  Omnipotent  God  change  their  hearts  and  turn 
them  toward  the  truth  as  taught  by  the  Catholic  church? 
Again,  why  did  God  permit  the  predominance  in  num 
bers  of  pagans  and  Mohammedans  among  the  peoples  of 
the  earth  ?  If  Christianity  was  the  only  saving  religion, 
why  was  not  the  whole  world  inclined  to  Christianity? 
And  if  God  was  the  merciful  and  considerate  father 
which  he  was  painted,  and  if  the  Catholic  church  was  the 
only  true  Christian  church,  why  was  not  the  whole  world 
Christian  and  all  Christians  Catholics  ? 

These  thoughts,  which  had  haunted  Tom  Gaston  during 
his  school  days  in  his  native  town,  occurred  to  him  with 
redoubled  force  and  energy  when  he  came  to  Boston, 
and  found  a  dominant  Protestantism  that  was  full  of 
vitality,  highly  intelligent,  and  in  some  respects  liberal 
and  even  progressive.  But  he  found  in  Boston,  also,  a 
surprising  division  of  sentiment  among  Protestants.  lie 
found  the  orthodox  and  other  so-called  evangelical  Chris 
tians  to  be  as  strict  and  almost  as  dogmatic  in  their  views 
and  pulpit  teachings  as  the  most  bigoted  Presbyterians 
of  the  Provinces.  But  then  there  were  the  Universalists, 
who  had  so  far  modified  the  doctrines  of  orthodoxy  as  to 
hold  that  all  men,  even  the  most  wicked,  would  finally 
be  saved.  This  was  a  step  in  the  direction  of  liberalism, 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    1'KIEST?  27 

but  in  Universalism  in  its  more  radical  form  Tom  Gaston 
found  religious  ideas  and  conceptions  best  suited  to  his 
own  conceptions  of  a  religion,  in  which  humanity  would 
have  some  chance  of  fair  play  as  against  the  doctrines  of 
the  theologians. 

Among  the  noted  preachers  of  the  day  in  Boston  —  and 
he  heard  them  all  —  none  suited  Tom  Gaston  so  fully  as 
Theodore  Parker,  whose  humanitarian  views,  freedom  of 
thought  and  expression,  and  evident  sincerity,  as  well  as 
the  moral  courage  and  persistency  with  which  he  iterated 
his  generally  unpopular  views  on  theology  and  the  rights 
of  man,  at  once  won  the  approval  and  admiration  of  the 
young  provincial. 

'  He  is,'  wrote  Tom  Gaston  to  Master  Cluney,  discussing 
in  one  of  his  letters  the  famous  preacher  — '  He  is  a  phe 
nomenal  man.  Of  medium  build,  very  bald,  spectacled, 
and  with  a  voice  at  first  somewhat  harsh,  he  would  not 
impress  you  as  being  more  than  a  commonplace  preacher. 
But  before  he  talked  five  minutes  this  impression  would 
be  dispelled,  and  you  would  forget  the  man  in  the  ideas 
he  was  enunciating.  You  would  become  conscious  of 
the  unfoldment,  the  revelation  of  a  sublime  individuality, 
a  mind  of  vast  power  and  penetration,  a  heart  warm  to 
the  ties  of  common  humanity,  a  nature  that  would  scorn 
subterfuge  —  a  man,  in  fact,  of  the  heroic  mould,  with 
the  strongest  convictions,  and  the  courage  to  express 
them.  His  indignant  protests  against  religious  intoler 
ance  are  finely  and  consistently  supplemented  by  his 
fierce  denunciations  of  the  system  of  human  slavery  pre 
vailing  today  in  the  Southern  states  of  this  republic. 
This  attitude  of  Mr.  Parker,  though  it  is  consistent  with 
his  position  as  an  advocate  of  human  freedom,  physically 


28  IN  FETTERS: 

as  well  as  mentally,  has  made  him  many  powerful  and 
vindictive  enemies,  and  threats  of  personal  violence  are 
not  lacking  to  remind  him  that  the  man  who  is  honest  in 
his  convictions  and  outspoken  in  his  utterances,  .if  he  is 
against  the  established  order  of  things,  is  not  to  be  toler 
ated  —  not  because  he  is  not  right,  but  because  he  seeks 
to  do  away  with  the  evils  that  society  has  become  accus 
tomed  to  and  grown  to  like. 

'  You  would  feel  a  rapture  in  listening  to  this  fearless 
man,  such  a  rapture  as  can  only  be  kindled  in  the  human 
breast  by  the  awakening  of  the  heroic  instinct  in  our 
nature,  the  instinct  that  would  rouse  to  rebellion  against 
the  tyrant  of  oppression,  whether  he  were  embodied  in 
a  personal  king  or  an  impersonal  creed.' 

To  this  Master  Cluney  replied,  '  In  regard  to  Theodore 
Parker,  you  excite  my  curiosity.  He  must  be  a  phenom 
enal  man.  Is  it  what  he  says  or  is  it  the  manner  in 
which  he  says  it,  that  is  so  taking?  Does  he  tell  any 
new  truths,  or  does  he  clothe  old  ones  in  new  and 
attractive  garments,  as  the  milliner  will  make  old  maids 
look  young  by  artistic  arrangement  of  dress  and  dra 
pery?  Seriously,  Tom,  let  me  say  to  you  —  Do  not  be 
carried  away  by  the  rhetorical  methods  of  any  speaker. 
Take  down  some  of  his  points  as  he  utters  them,  and 
then,  in  the  stillness  of  your  room,  subject  them  to  a 
close  analysis.  They  may  be  found  then  to  be  not  so 
enchanting  as  they  appeared  when  uttered  by  this  man, 
who  is  evidently  a  master  of  his  art. 

'I  do  not  write  this  to  discourage  you,  or  to  lower 
your  estimate  of  Mr.  Parker.  I  simply  do  it  to  suggest 
to  you  that  enthusiasm  is  often  misleading,  throwing  a 
glamour  about  the  mental  vision  and  making  what  is 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  29 

merely  bright  dazzling,  what  is  merely  novel  astound- 
ingly  new,  and  platitude  the  dawning  of  a  new  and  vital 
truth.  Believe  me,  Tom,  there,  are  few  things  that  are 
new  in  this  world.  Few  thoughts  now  occur  on  old 
subjects  which  have  not  occurred  before.  Indeed  it 
would  seem  as  if  every  phase  which  religion  could 
assume  has  already  been  manifested  in  same  form  or 
other,  and  that  little  that  is  new  can  be  found  in  the 
churches.  We  must  look  for  new  ideas  on  religion,  not 
in  the  churches,  but  outside  of  them.  I  will  visit  Boston 
in  July  or  August,  when  I  hope  to  see  and  hear  your 
Rev.  Theodore  Parker,  and  judge  for  myself.' 

It  may  be  added  that  while  Tom  Gaston  was  open  in 
his  confidences  with  his  old  master  he  was  more  circum 
spect  in  what  he  wrote  to  his  parents,  for  he  disliked  to 
give  them  pain  —  especially  his  mother  —  in  the  thought 
that  he  had  repudiated  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  It  is 
true  he  had  indicated  enough  in  his  letters  to  his  brother 
to  give  the  impression  that  he  was  not  a  good  Catholic. 
But  as  he  inclined  to  free  thought,  his  people  did  not 
have  the  mortification  of  the  suspicion  that  he  would 
become  a  Protestant,  a  thing  which  all  Catholics  would 
reprobate,  for  while  they  could  tolerate  a  resort  to  free 
thinking  on  the  part  of  a  member  of  their  church  they 
would  hardly  forgive  a  change  to  Protestantism. 

During  the  only  visit  made  to  his  home,  about  a  year 
after  leaving  it,  Tom  had  friendly  talk  with  Father  Mc- 
Mahon,  Chebucto's  parish  priest,  with  whom  he  was  a 
great  favorite.  This  was  brought  about  by  Tom's  good 
mother,  who,  woman-like,  conceived  that  a  priest  had, 
by  some  occult  means,  the  power  of  turning  him  from 
the  error  of  his  ways. 


30  IN  FETTERS: 

'  Tom,'  said  his  reverence,  '  I  am  told  that  you  have 
been  playing  fast  and  loose  with  the  devil  in  Boston.' 

'  If  I  have,'  said  Tom,,  in  a  jocular  way,  '  I  was  not 
aware  of  it.  He  was  never  introduced  to  me  by  that 
name.  Would  you  know  him,  Father  Tom,  if  you  met 
him?' 

'  I  would  know  his  works,  anyway.' 

'What  are  they?' 

'  Evil,  and  you  know  it,  Tom,  as  well  as  I  do.' 

'  But  you  speak  of  the  devil  as  if  he  were  a  personality, 
a  being.  Is  he  really  such  ? ' 

'  He  is  the  embodiment  of  the  evil  principle.' 

'  Then,  as  I  understand  it,  sir,  the  word  devil  is  only  a 
term  which  you  use  to  embody  your  conception  of  what 
is  understood  to  be  the  evil  principle  in  nature  ? ' 

'  That  might  do  for  the  materialistic  conception  of  the 
matter.' 

'  Then  if  the  devil  is  only  a  conception  of  the  embodi 
ment  of  the  evil  principle  in  nature,  and  not  a  personality, 
and  God  is  our  conception  of  what  is  good  in  nature,  is 
he  also  only  a  conception  of  the  human  brain,  or  is  he  a 
reality  —  I  mean  a  personality  ? ' 

Master  Cluney,  who  was  an  amused  listener  to  this 
colloquy,  noticing  that  his  uncle  showed  signs  of  irrita 
tion,  here  interrupted  with  a  laugh,  and  said :  '  Tom,  you 
are  still  the  same  radical  asker  of  conundrums  you  were 
when  at  school.  Do  you  remember  when  you  asked  me 
why  the  water  in  the  sea  wasn't  fresh,  like  well  water  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  and  I  recall  your  reply,  "  because  it  wasn't." ' 
replied  Tom,  smiling  at  the  recollection. 

'  And  you  afterwards  realized  that  that  answer  was  not 
the  result  of  my  inability  to  explain  the  phenomena  con- 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  31 

nected  with  the  production  of  fresh  and  the  existence  of 
sea  water?' 

'  I  did,  of  course.' 

'  And  can  you  not  see  the  analogy  between  that  ques 
tion  and  the  ones  you  are  now  asking  ? ' 

'  I  could,  if  they  were  susceptible  of  demonstration,  as 
that  was.' 

'  Tom,  you're  incorrigible,'  said  Cluney,  and  the  sub 
ject  was  dismissed.  At  parting,  however,  Father  Tom, 
quite  earnestly,  but  yet  good-naturedly,  said : 

'I'm  afraid,  Tom,  that  the  devil  will  yet  claim  one 
more  good  fellow  in  you ! ' 

'I  shall  not  fear  him,  Father  Tom,'  was  the  laughing 
reply,  'while  I  can  call  so  good  and  noble  a  churchman 
as  you,  and  my  dear  Mr.  Cluney,  friends ! ' 

'  Tom,'  rejoined  the  gratified  and  more  than  half  mol 
lified  priest,  '  may  God  bless  you,  and  make  clear  to  your 
understanding  the  things  which  now  seem  obscure ! ' 

'Amen ! '  said  Tom ;  and  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

JOHN  CLUNEY'S  VISIT  TO  BOSTON — THE  'OLD  NATIONAL' 
THEATRE  AND  ITS  GALLERY  GODS. 

On  an  afternoon  in  August,  1851,  Thomas  Gaston 
stood  at  the  end  of  Lewis  wharf  in  Boston,  watching  for 
the  St.  John  steamer.  He  had  been  waiting  nearly  two 
hours,  when  he  was  at  last  rewarded  by  a  sight  of  the 
white  hull  of  the  steamboat  rapidly  making  her  way  up 


32  IN  FETTERS: 

the  harbor  and  towards  the  wharf  where  he  stood.  The 
boat  had  hardly  touched  the  wharf  when  he  jumped  on 
board,  and  made  his  way  among  the  passengers  in 
search  of  his  expected  friend,  Master  Cluney,  whom  he 
quickly  spied  at  the  rail  of  the  boat  looking  over  the 
assembled  crowd,  in  search  of  him,  his  head  thrown  back 
and  quivering  with  a  kind  of  palsied  shake,  that  was 
altogether  familiar. 

'Mr.  Cluney!' 

'Why,  it's  Tom!  God  bless  you,  Tom!  You  are  after 
me,  while  I  have  been  looking  for  you. ' 

Tom  had  provided  board  and  lodging  for  his  guest  at 
his  own  boarding  place,  and  after  arranging  with  an 
expressman  to  carry  the  trunk  of  the  latter  which  could 
not  then  be  reached  to  the  house,  took  a  carriage,  and 
they  were  soon  whirling  up  Ann  street  towards  the 
West  End. 

'  Tom, '  said  the  master,  as  they  rode  up  Ann  street, 
'what  kind  of  a  neighborhood  is  this?  It  looks  like  an 
old-country  city  street  more  than  an  American  one.' 

'It  is  one  of  the  toughest  in  the  city —  a  resort  of  the 
lowest  women  and  men,  and  a  place  where  sailors  are 
often  cast  away,  as  you  can  judge,  when  one  portion  of 
it  is  named  the  "  black  sea. " 

'  And  this  is  Ann  street.  I  have  heard  much  of  it 
and  of  its  bad  character.  But,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  was 
once  the  residence  of  some  of  Boston's  first  families.' 

'  That  is  true.  From  the  first  families  it  has  descended 
to  the  worst  families.' 

'  Tom,  you  are  the  same  punster  you  always  were,  but 
in  this  case  your  attempt  is  more  punitive  than  pungent, 
considering  the  locality  and  the  weather.  But  is  not 


33 

Father  Taylor's  Bethel  in  this  locality,  somewhere  ?  I 
heard  one  of  our  sailors  speak  of  him.' 

'  Yes,  it  is  in  North  square,  and  he  is  a  character  — 
yon  must  take  him  in ;  also,  you  must  see  some  of  the 
all-night  dances  which  are  held  in  this  locality.' 

'  I  will,  Tom.     I'll  take  them  all  in.' 

Arrived  at  the  boarding  house,  the  master  was  accom 
panied  to  his  room,  which  adjoined  Tom's.  After  a  good 
wash  and  an  arrangement  of  his  toilet,  Master  Cluney 
sat  down  with  his  friend  and  former  pupil,  to  talk  with 
him  of  home  and  friends,  in  the  interval  before  supper 
time.  But,  first,  Tom  hastily  read  the  letters  for  him 
with  which  his  friend  was  freighted. 

'  These  letters  are  short,'  said  Tom,  '  but  they  give  as 
a  reason  that  you  will  tell  me  all  the  news,  and  now  for 
it.  Dick  took  a  notion  about  two  years  ago  to  study  for 
the  church  —  a  curious  resolve,  it  would  seem,  if  there 
had  not  been  a  woman  in  the  case,  but  love  for  the  sex 
is  more  apt  to  make  fools  of  men  than  any  other  cause. 
Dick  wrote  me  all  about  it  from  Montreal,  and  I  had 
mother's  version  also.  It  delights  her,  of  course,  for  she 
is  as  true  and  sincere  a  believer  as  she  is  a  good  woman. 
Well,  what  is  the  latest  ?  How  is  Agnes  ?  How  has  father 
got  along  with  the  business  since  Dick  left?  Does  mother 
grow  old-looking  ?  How  are  all  the  girls  I  used  to  know  ? 
How  many  of  them  are  married  ? ' 

'  Hold  on,  Dick !  Do  you  think  it  is  the  part  of  a  host 
to  stuff  your  guest  with  questions?  Be  aisy,  as  we  say  in 
the  old  country.  Give  a  man  a  chance  to  breathe.  But, 
before  I  forget  it,  let  me  ask  you  —  I  promised  your 
mother  to  make  the  inquiry  —  why  is  it  that  you  have 
not  been  home  for  so  long  a  time  ?  —  it's  over  a  year.' 


34  IN  FETTERS: 

'  I'll  tell  you  —  But,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  cannot,  for 
I  know  of  no  reason  why,  except  that  I  have  been  so 
interested  in  my  surroundings  here  that  I  do  not  care  to 
leave  Boston.  But  now  that  Dick  is  away  from  home, 
and  father  and  mother  practically  alone,  I  suppose  it  is 
my  duty  to  go  and  see  them,  and  I  will  do  so.  It  would 
cheer  them,  I  know,  and  I  love  them  both  dearly  —  But 
hark !  That  is  the  supper  bell,  and  you  must  be  hungry. 
Come  down  to  the  dining  room,  and  after  the  meal  we 
will  go  out  and  take  a  stroll  about  the  city,  and  down  on 
to  the  Common.' 

'  I'm  with  you,'  responded  the  pedagogue. 

After  supper  Tom  proposed  a  stroll  on  the  Common, 
and  Cluney  readily  assenting,  the  two  friends" started  for 
that  favorite  resort  of  Bostonians.  The  muggy,  warm 
weather  of  the  day  had  given  place  to  a  clear  and  cooler 
atmosphere,  induced  by  a  brisk  north-west  wind,  which 
had  set  in  in  the  late  afternoon. 

The  fashionable  promenades  on  the  Common  were 
filled  with  throngs  of  well-dressed  people,  who  found 
relief  in  the  open  air  from  the  summer  atmosphere  of 
the  houses. 

'  The  people  here,'  said  Master  Cluney,  '  impress  me 
as  having  a  smart,  independent  way  and  air  about  them, 
which  are  in  marked  contrast  to  the  manners  of  the  peo 
ple  of  the  Provinces.  They  seem  wide-awake,  indepen 
dent,  and  with  a  dash  of  swagger  and  braggadocio  which 
is,  after  all,  not  unbecoming  to  them.' 

*  You  are  right,'  said  Tom.  '  The  Yankees  are  a  wide 
awake,  smart  and  even  superior  people  to  those  you  find 
in  the  Provinces  —  not  that  there  is  any  better  material 
in  them,  but  under  a  free  popular  government  like  that 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  35 

prevailing  here  the  manhood  of  the  individual  or  the 
individuality  of  the  man,  whichever  it  may  be,  finds 
ample  room  for  growth  and  development.  Men  are 
made  ambitious  here  because  there  is  no  position  in  the 
nation  to  which  a  man  properly  qualified  may  not  aspire. 
I  like  the  American  people  so  much  better  than  those  of 
the  Provinces  that  I  do  not  want  to  live  in  that  part  of 
the  country  again.' 

'  And  yet  there  is  much  to  criticise  here,  also.  You 
remember  Tom  Moore's  notes  on  America,  and  what  kind 
of  people  he  met  here  ? ' 

'Yes,  and  I  have  read  them  with  indignation.  Though 
he  may  be  a  fine  poet,  the  English  aristocracy  took  him 
under  their  wing  and  made  a  snob  of  him.  He  gauged 
American  manners  and  men  by  an  English  measure,  and 
couldn't  understand  why  a  people,  under  pioneer  condi 
tions  of  development,  could  not  have  the  finished  graces 
and  manners  of  the  old  aristocracy  whose  patronage  he 
enjoyed,  and  perhaps,  also,  for  whose  delectation  he 
wrote  his  American  notes.  Bah!  I  despise  Moore.  But, 
to  change  the  subject,  wouldn't  you  like  to  go  to  the 
theatre?' 

'I  would,  indeed.  'I  have  not  been  to  one  since  I  left 
London,  ten  years  ago.' 

*  Very  well ;  we  will  go  to  the  National  Theatre.  It  is 
not  the  highest-toned  place  of  amusement  in  the  city, 
but  you  can  have  a  good  deal  of  fun  there ! ' 

'  That's  what  I'd  like,  Tom.  At  a  place  of  amusement 
I  think  the  best  form  of  entertainment  is  comedy,  or 
plays  that  show  us  the  comic  side  of  life.  Shakespere  is 
the  great  high  priest  of  the  drama,  and  his  tragedies  are 
wonderful  productions  ;  but  I  honestly  like  his  comedies 


36  IK  FETTERS: 

best.  Such  plays,  also,  as  the  School  for  Scandal,  She 
Stoops  to  Conquer,  and  the  Honey-Moon,  are  fine  and 
amusing  productions.' 

'It  is  singular,'  said  Tom,  'that  you  should  have 
named  the  Honey-Moon,  for  that  is  the  play  which  is 
billed  at  the  National  tonight.' 

'Well,  it  is  singular,  as  you  say.  I  saw  it  performed 
in  Dublin,  and  afterwards  in  London,  just  before  my  de 
parture  for  America.  It  has  been  immensely  popular  on 
the  other  side,  and  I  presume  it  takes-  well  here. 
There  is  a  sparkle  and  spirit  about  it  from  beginning  to 
end  that  is  truly  refreshing.' 

'  I  agree  with  you,'  said  Tom,  '  it  is  one  of  those  mas 
terly  works  of  the -dramatic  art  that  will  not  easily  tire 
by  repetition.  I  have  seen  it  several  times,  and  will  en 
joy  it  again.  It  is  one  of  the  immortals  of  the  stage.' 

'  And  yet,'  said  Cluney,  '  if  I  remember  correctly,  it 
has  a  sad  history  —  that  is,  sad  for  its  author.  It  was 
written  by  one  John  Tobin  —  an  Englishman  with  an 
Irish  name  —  about  the  beginning  of  this  century.  He 
offered  it  to  the  English  manager  Kemble,  who  refused 
it,  claiming  that  it  had  no  originality,  but  was  a  plagiar 
ism  from  comedies  of  Shakespeare  and  others.  Tobin 
found  it  impossible  to  persuade  either  actor  or  manager 
to  take  his  comedy  and  produce  it  upon  the  stage,  and 
the  poor  fellow  died  —  I  believe  he  died  at  sea,  on  a 
voyage  to  the  West  Indies  for  his  health —  without  rea 
lizing  that  he  had  written  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and 
successful  acting  comedies  in  the  English  langauge. 
The  Honey- Moon,  I  believe,  was  not  produced  until  a 
year  after  his  death,  and  then  its  success  was  immense. 
I  think  it  had  a  run  in  Dublin  beyond  that  of  any  other 


THE   MAX   OK   THE    PKIEST?  37 

comedy,  not  even  excepting  Sheridan's  brilliant  School 
for  Scandal.' 

'What  you  tell  me,'  said  Tom,  'interests  me  greatly. 
Poor  fellow!  How  often  the  creative  genius  dies  of 
neglect,  while  his  works  become  immortal.  There 
is  a  curious  analogy  in  the  lives  of  great  men— neglected 
and  even  persecuted  while  living ;  when  dead,  immor 
talized,  after  the  stupid  world  has  awakened  to  their 
excellence.' 

'But,  here  we  are,  at  the  theatre.  I  think  we  would 
better  go  into  the  family  circle,  so-called,  which  is  the 
first  gallery  of  the  theatre.  Here  we  will  be  just  a  little 
above  the  level  of  the  stage,  and  can  see  the  play  to  the 
best  advantage.' 

'  I'll  leave  it  to  your  judgment,  Tom,  for  you  should 
know  best,'  was  the  reply. 

Tom  procured  tickets  and  the  friends  entered  the 
theatre.  At  one  side,  the  first  thing  that  attracted  atten 
tion  was  a  bar,  where  liquors  were  sold. 

'  Why,'  remarked  the  master,  '  this  is  quite  old  country 
style.' 

'  I  did  not  know  it,'  remarked  Tom.  '  Whatever  style 
it  may  be,  it  is  not  a  good  one,  for  it  affords  too  ready 
means  for  some  of  the  people  who  attend  this  place  to 
get  drunk  before  the  play  is  over,  and  to  make  them 
selves  disagreeable.' 

The  entrance  was  on  the  street  floor,  on  which  level 
the  pit  or  main  hall  of  the  auditorium  was  located,  the 
seats  extending  out  under  the  galleries  on  either  side  and 
in  the  rear. 

The  first  gallery,  or  family  circle,  was  reached  by 
flights  of  stairs  from  the  lobby  on  either  side.  Above 


38  IK  FETTERS: 

this  was  a  second  gallery,  with  a  separate  entrance,  and 
above  it  an  upper  or  tlrird  gallery,  where  newsboys  and 
street  gamins  who  could  raise  a  ninepence  found  a  place 
to  have  an  evening's  fun,  and  making  things  lively  by 
their  cat-calls,  shouting,  and  other  hideous  noises,  at 
which  they  were  expert.  Still  above  this,  and  in  the  rear, 
almost  at  the  ceiling  of  the  theatre,  was  a  small  gallery 
reserved  for  colored  people,  and  known  as  '  nigger 
heaven.' 

At  tlu  time  in  question  a  colored  person,  no  matter 
how  respectable,  would  not  be  allowed  in  any  other  part 
of  the  theatre.  Occasionally  a  colored  man  would  be 
found  who  had  the  hardihood  to  obtain  a  ticket  for  the 
pit,  and  enter  it.  The  moment  he  was  discovered  by 
the  gallery  '  gods,'  however,  there  would  be  shouts  of 
'  nigger  in  the  pit ! '  '  put  him  out !  '  '  put  him  out ! '  and 
if  he  did  not  take  the  hint  and  go  out,  the  demands 
would  swell  into  an  uproar  that  would  not  be  stilled 
until  the  man  was  either  quietly  or  forcibly  ejected. 

Tom  explained  these  arrangements  to  Master  Cluney, 
as  best  he  could,  amid  the  noise  made  in  the  galleries, 
which,  as  the  time  approached  for  the  rising  of  the 
curtain,  swelled  into  an  almost  continuous  clamor,  and 
which  ceased  partially  when  the  orchestra  struck  up  the 
music,  quiet  only  being  vouchsafed  when  the  curtain  was 
rung  up. 

The  characters  of  the  play  were  sustained  by  members 
of  the  excellent  stock  company,  under  the  management 
of  Mrs.  Pelby,  widow  of  William  Pelby,  who  on  this  oc 
casion  sustained  the  character  of  Juliana  herself,  that  of 
Duke  Aranza  being  taken  by  the  leading  heavy  man,  Mr. 
Fleming;  Jacques,  by 'Old  Spear,'  as  he  was  then  called, 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  39 

while,  in  the  cast  of  female  characters,  Mrs.  Vincent  took 
the  part  of  Volante,  and  Mrs.  Pry  or  that  of  Zamora. 

The  play  was  rendered  with  all  the  dash  and  vigor  of 
a  strong  company  of  players,  and  received  the  closest 
attention  of  even  the  third  gallery,  famed  for  its  usual 
turbulence. 

When  the  Duke,  in  his  assumed  disguise  as  a  peasant, 
said  to  his  indignant  and  disappointed  bride,  Juliana,  in 
answer  to  her  remark  that  perhaps  he  would  beat  her: 
'Beat  you!  The  man  that  lays  his  hand  upon  a  woman, 
save  in  the  way  of  kindness,  is  a  wretch  whom  'twere 
gross  flattery  to  name  a  coward ! '  there  was  a  surging 
storm  of  applause,  which  made  Cluney  remark,  '  If  they 
are  a  rough  set,  they  are  manly,  at  least.' 

In  the  second  scene  of  the  third  act,  where  Spear,  as 
Jacques,  personated  the  duke,  there  occurred  an  episode 
that  is  believed  to  be  altogether  singular  in  theatrical 
experience.  Spear  was  a  natural  buffoon,  and,  in  the 
part  of  the  mock  duke,  his  acting  was  so  peculiarly 
comical  that  it  appealed  more  particularly  to  the  uncouth 
gods  of  the  gallery,  who  fully  enjoyed  it. 

But  in  the  pit  there  was  seated  a  stout,  middle-aged 
man,  who  was  so  irresistibly  impressed  with  Spear's 
comicality,  that  he  laughed  so  loudly,  and  contorted  his 
body  so  violently  that  he  drew  from  the  stage,  much  to 
the  embarrassment  and  annoyance  of  the  actors,  the 
attention  of  the  whole  house,  and  particularly  of  the 
third  gallery,  the  gods  of  which  were  at  first  highly 
pleased  with  the  fun,  but  soon  became  indignant  that 
any  one  in  the  pit  should  presume  to  take  the  noise- 
making  out  of  their  hands,  or  rather  their  mouths,  and 
who  set  up  a  howl  of  'put  him  out!'  'dry  up!'  'bag  yer 


40  IN  TETTERS: 

head ! '  and  other  remarks  which  savored  more  of  indig 
nation  than  of  elegance. 

One  of  the  officers  on  duty  went  to  the  man,  and 
ordered  him  to  desist,  which  he  honestly  tried  to  do,  and 
succeeded  in  doing  so  long  as  he  kept  his  eyes  off  the 
stage.  But  in  an  evil  moment,  when  the  mock  duke  was 
on  the  point  of  giving  audience  to  the  wronged  wife,  and 
was  saying:  'I  must  appear  important:  big  as  a  country 
pedagogue, when  he  enters  the  school-room  with — a-hem! 
and  terrifies  the  apple-munching  urchins  with  the  creak 
ing  of  his  shoes ' — the  countryman  incautiously  looked 
up,  and  was  seized  with  such  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  laugh 
ter  as  again  brought  things  to  a  stand-still,  and  drowned 
the  remainder  of  the  mock  duke's  soliloquy.  The  of 
fender  was  removed,  limp,  laughing,  and  unresisting. 

The  friends  did  not  wait  for  the  afterpiece,  for  the 
reason  that  by  going  out  early  they  would  avoid  the 
crowd.  This  was  suggested  by  Tom's  former  experience 
at  this  place  of  amusement. 

'Now,'  said  Tom,  'we  will  go  to  Parker's  restaurant, 
have  a  lunch,  and  then  home  and  to  bed,  for  you  must 
be  tired  after  your  journey,' 

Cluney  consented,  and  the  friends  repaired  to  Parker's 
eating  house,  which  was  located  in  the  basement  of  the 
stone  building  on  the  corner  of  Court  street  and  Court 
square,  the  entrance  being  on  the  latter  —  by  stone  steps 
from  the  sidewalk,  guarded  by  an  iron  railing. 

Plarvey  D.  Parker  himself,  in  a  white  apron,  waited 
upon  his  guests.  He  was  below  medium  size,  but  quick, 
active  and  pleasant,  and  furnished  the  best  of  viands, 
cooked  and  served  in  a  manner  which  made  his  place 
famous  even  at  that  time, 


THE   MAN    OK   THE    PKIEST?  41 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH   THOMAS  GASTOK  AVOWS    HIS    UNBELIEF   IN   THE 
IMMORTALITY    OF    THE    SOUL. 

The  morning  succeeding  his  arrival  in  Boston  the 
pedagogue  was  up  early,  and,  being  joined  by  Tom,  took 
a  stroll  before  breakfast.  They  walked  down  Cambridge 
street  to  the  West  Boston  bridge.  This  was  to  afford 
Cluney  an  opportunity  to  see  the  Charles  river  basin 
when  it  looked  its  best,  with  the  morning  sun  smiling  on 
it.  On  the  way  down,  Tom  pointed  out  the  old  Medical 
College  on  Grove  street. 

This  brought  up  the  Parkman  murder,  and  incidentally 
the  work  of  a  medical  student.  Tom  expressed  regret 
that  it  was  the  vacation  season,  as  he  should  like  to  take 
his  friend  into  the  dissecting  room. 

'That  must  be  a  nauseating  business ;' said  Cluney. 
'Much  as  I  would  like  the  practical  knowledge  acqiiired 
by  the  work  of  dissection,  it  would,  I  think,  sicken  me.' 

'  It  is  not  an  agreeable  work,'  replied  Tom,  '  and  the 
oder  is  so  bad  that  we  have  to  smoke  cigars  in  order  to 
deaden  it.  But,  then,  one  forgets  this  in  the  practical 
study  of  anatomy.  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  like  it, 
though  at  first  I  thought  I  never  should.' 

'  I  suppose  you  have  studied  the  chemistry  of  putre 
faction  enough  to  know  the  processes  by  which  the 
human  body  is  resolved  into  its  gaseous  and  residual 
elements  ?  I  have  not  familiarity  enough  with  07-ganio 


42  IN  FETTERS: 

chemistry  to  know  it  as  I  would  like  to,  though  in  theory 
I  know  something  of  it.' 

'And  yet,'  said  Tom,  'my  first  lessons  in  chemistry 
were  learned  from  you.  The  experiments  you  made, 
simple  'as  they  may  have  been,  were  object  lessons  to  me 
that  I  will  never  forget.  Your  demonstration,  that  in 
the  union  of  oxygen  with  hydrogen  in  combination  with 
carbon,  water  was  one  of  the  resulting  products,  was  to 
me  a  new  and  surprising  revelation.  It  was  a  key  that 
opened  a  storehouse  of  wonders,  and  started  me  on  the 
quest,  the  realization  of  which  is  that  all  phenomena  are 
ultimately  resolvable  into  the  action  of  energy  upon  mat 
ter.  I  recall  the  delight  which  I  experienced  when  first 
I  realized  the  fact  that  to  produce  the  water  of  our  earth 
there  must  have  been  a  state  of  conflagration  maintained 
upon  it  for  millions  of  years,  perhaps ;  for  water  can  only 
be  produced  in  one  way,  it  being,  curiously  enough,  a 
sort  of  liquid  ashes  of  combustion,  though  more  properly 
a  compound  of  elements.  What  a  vast,  what  a  grand 
conflagration  that  must  have  been  ;  but  how  insignificant 
it  was  in  comparison  to  that  which  is  now  going  on  in 
our  parent  globe,  the  sun ! ' 

'  Yes  ;  these  vast  forces  in  the  planets  are  beyond  our 
conception,  but  we  can  still  admire  them.  You  must 
have  enjoyed  your  opportunities  of  pursuing  your  favor 
ite  study  of  chemistry  here.  The  study  of  organic 
chemistry  to  me  has  great  attractions,  but  I  have  never 
had  the  opportunities  that  you  have  had,'  remarked 
Cluney. 

'You  may  think  it  singular,  but  my  study  of  organic 
chemistry  has  had  what  I  may  call  a  metaphysical  sig 
nificance  to  me  in  the  study  of  biology  as  well  as — now, 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  43 

don't  laugh  —  theology.  In  other  words,  it  has  given  me 
ideas  of  the  laws  of  the  growth  and  dissolution  of  or 
ganic  bodies  that  in  turn  enable  me  to  think  about  and 
weigh  mental  or  psychological  matters  in  a  manner  that 
I  never  could  have  done  without  such  aid.' 

'  I  can  understand  this,  to  be  sure,  but  is  not  such 
a  method  likely  to  be  misleading  ? ' 

'  How  can  it  be,  except  perhaps  in  the  matter  of  deduc 
tion,  where  that  is  carried  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason  ? 
To  illustrate,  life  has  its  origin  in  cell  structure,  and 
there  is  a  perfect  analogy  in  the  development  of  man 
and  the  other  animals  in  the  embryonic  stages.  Before 
birth,  each  is  after  its  kind,  and  the  human  animal  is 
more  capable  of  higher  development,  because,  first,  he 
has  a  larger  brain ;  then,  he  is  more  imitative,  and,  then, 
he  is  capable  of  reasoning  and  experimentation.  But  as 
he  has  his  origin  as  an  animal,  in  dissolution  he  is  like 
one.  His  body,  after  life  ceases,  is  only  a  dead  carcass, 
nothing  more.  Now,  is  not  this  rational  deduction?' 

'But  the  soul,  Tom, — the  spirit, — what  of  it?' 

'If  I  said  it  was  immaterial,  you  would  probably 
accuse  me  of  punning.  But,  as  to  the  soul,  what,  after 
all,  is  it?  The  ego  is  only  the  personality  of  the  man, 
when  in  life.  Withdraw  vitality,  and  it  may  be  likened 
to  the  tone  of  an  instrument,  that  has  worn  out  or  been 
broken.  It  exists  no  more  ;  it  is  a  light  gone  out.' 

'Then  you  believe  the  existence  of  the  soul  or  spirit 
is  conditioned  to  that  of  the  body?' 

'You  have  expressed  my  idea,  exactly.' 

'That  is  a  curious  notion,  Tom.  Where  did  you  run 
across  it?'  asked  Cluney,  laughing. 

'To  tell  the  truth,'  replied  Tom,  'I  should  be  puzzled 


44  IN  FETTERS: 

to  tell  whether  it  has  been  evolved  from  my  own  reason 
ing  or  not,  but  I  think  it  has.' 

'Well,  let  us  hear  by  what  process  of  reasoning  you 
arrive  at  such  a  conclusion?' 

'It  is  this:  I  cannot  conceive  of  a  process  without 
matter  in  action.  Now,  though  I  do  not  know  what  the 
mechanical  or  chemical  action  of  the  human  brain  is,  I 
know  there  must  be  such  action  in  the  evolution  of 
thought.  Then  it  requires  a  brain  for  even  an  ego  or 
soul,  or  it  cannot  think,  or  see,  or  hear,  or  feel,  through 
its  auxiliaries,  the  eyes,  ears,  and  nerves ;  therefore,  not 
having  these  it  cannot  have  a  conscious  existence.  More 
than  this,  an  organism  must  be  nourished  by  a  circulatory 
system,  which,  in  its  turn,  receives  its  supply  from  the 
results  of  the  chemical  action  and  reaction  in  the  stom 
ach.  In  other  words,  a  soul  or  spirit,  in  order  to  see, 
hear,  feel  and  think,  must  have  an  organism  similar  to 
our's,  with  like  digestive  and  assimilative  functions  to 
support  and  sustain  it.  Do  you  see  my  point?' 

'I  do,  Tom,  and  it  is  a  strong  one,  I  must  allow.  But 
given  its  truth,  what  are  we  here  for  ?  If  this  life  is  all 
and  its  close  ends  all,  what  is  it  worth?  When  man 
begins  to  know  something,  that  is,  when  his  intellect 
becomes  matured,  he  dies,  and  is  ended.  • —  It  looks  as  if 
there  was  some  huge  mistake  in  this  plan.' 

'Yes,'  remarked  Tom,  'almost  as  big  a  one  as  there  is 
in  the  orthodox  plan  of  salvation,  which  saves  only  the 
baker's  dozen  here  and  there,  and  damns  the  majority. 
Well,  if  it  be  so,  it  is,  and  that  is  all  there  is  about  it.' 

'Do  you  think  if  this  were  the  case,  life  would  be 
worth  living?' 

'Why  not?     Indeed,  from  this  fact  alone,  it  should  be 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  45 

made  doubly  valuable,  and  men,  generally  realizing  it, 
should  become  less  selfish,  and  vie  with  one  another  in 
making  life  happy  for  all,  instead  of  making  it  miserable, 
as  most  of  them  now  do.' 

'Of  course,  I  only  admit  the  force  of  your  reasoning 
in  this  matter,  not  its  truth.  You  do  not  -know  that, 
when  life  becomes  extinct  it  ends  all  for  the  individual.' 

'I  do  not  claim  to  know  this,  though  my  reason  con 
vinces  me  it  is  so.  Neither  do  you  know  that  the  indi 
viduality  of  the  body  is  perpetuated  after  its  dissolution, 
except  by  what  is  called  faith,  which  is  born  of  belief  in 
tradition  handed  down  through  bible  and  church.' 

'You  will  find,  Tom,  that  the  weight  of  the  oldest  and 
highest  authority  is  in  the  balance  against  you.' 

'Well,  I  have  the  weight  of  the  strongest  reason  to 
uphold  me.  I  think  my  position  is  the  strongest.' 

'  You  may  think  differently  later  on,  Tom.  It  is  not 
safe  at  any  time  to  assume  that  you  know  all  that  is  to 
be  known  about  anything,  or  indeed  all  that  you  will 
know  about  it.' 

'  Very  true,  my  good  preceptor.  I  would  not  shame 
your  sound  philosophical  teaching  by  any  such  assump 
tion.  I  do  not  think  that  I  know  it  all,  as  the  saying  is. 
I  am  aware  that  in  this  crucible  of  thought  and  reflection, 
which,  after  all,  is  the  highest  form  of  life-enjoyment, 
we  must  continually  modify  if  we  do  not  radically  change 
our  opinions  on  vital  questions.' 

'Yes,  and  after  you  have  swung  round  the  circle  of 
scientific  thought  and  deduction,  you  may  come  back 
again  to  where  you  started  from.' 

'  My  dear  master,  I  am  surprised  at  this  remark.  A 
man  of  brains  can  no  more  go  back  to  where  he  started 


46  IK  BETTERS: 

from  in  the  line  of  thought  and  deduction  than  he  can 
return  to  the  womb  in  which  he  was  conceived.  The 
laws  of  nature  are  progressive,  not  retrogressive.' 

'  Tom,  I  cannot  help  reverting  to  your  argument  about 
the  apparent  absurdity  of  inorganic  spirits  performing 
organic  functions,  but  you  have  not  taken  into  account 
the  circumstance  that  they  could  not  have  an  individu 
ality  if  they  had  not  an  organism,  and  an  organism,  as 
you  know,  presupposes  functions.' 

4  True ;  but  there  is  no  proof  of  a  reproduction  of  the 
human  organism,  especially  an  immaterial  one.  If  man 
were  thus  reproduced,  why  not  the  animals?  The  thing 
is  absurd — the  offspring  of  ignorance  of  natural  laws.' 

'I  have  no  doubt  that  Swedenborg  saw  how  illogical 
the  after  existence  of  man  was,  according  to  the  ordinary 
conceptions  of  it,  for  he  simply  teaches  that  life  is 
continued  on  this  earth  in  a  higher  plane  of  existence; 
that  we  have  there,  as  here,  an  organism  requiring  nu 
trition  ;  that  the  spirits  of  infants  there  grow  into  adults ; 
that  there  is  marriage  and  reproduction  there,  as  here; 
that,  in  fact,  spirit  life  is,  in  many  respects,  similar  to 
this  one,  with  immortality  added.' 

'That  is  logical,  in  its  way;  and  he  no  doubt  feeds  his 
spirits  on  the  ghosts  of  animals,  fruits,  and  vegetables. 
Just  conceive  of  a  spirit  butcher  cutting  off  a  tenderloin 
steak  from  a  dead  spirit  beef  carcass!  But,  I  fear  I  am 
getting  somewhat  mixed  up — it's  mixed  metaphor,  in 
fact.  But  has  he  no  heaven  and  hell'?' 

'  He  has  both.  They  are  practically  social  conditions, 
the  good  spirits  congregating  together,  and  by  establish 
ing  an  ideal  state  of  society,  contribute  to  their  mutual 
enjoyment  and  happiness.  This  is  heaven.  Hell  con- 


THE  MAN  OR  THE  PRIEST?  47 

gists  of  a  similar  affiliation  of  bad  spirits,  who  make  others 
miserable  by  their  wickedness  and  bad  actions,  and  are 
in  turn  made  wretched  by  the  wickedness  of  others.  It 
is  a  state  of  irrepressible  lawlessness  and  misery.' 

'  But  a  most  ingenious  way  to  solve  the  problem  of 
punishing  the  wicked  and  rewarding  the  good.  It  is  a 
great  improvement  on  the  orthodox  plan,  but  as  a  busi 
ness  method  is  not  so  promising.  Of  the  two,  I  must 
allow  that  I  prefer  Swedenborg's.  But  pardon  me  for 
running  on  in  this  way.  I  fear  it  has  prevented  you 
from  enjoying  the  view  of  the  bridge.' 

'It  has  not,  Tom.  I  do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  when 
I  am  engaged  in  thinking  or  listening  to  the  thoughts  of 
others,  I  am  conscious  of  a  kind  of  double  existence,  for 
I  not  only  enjoy  what  is  before  my  physical  vision,  but 
what  I  see  mentally,  also;  that  is,  the  picture  before  my 
eyes  is  heightened  or  in  a  measure  transfigured  by  the 
mental  stimulus.' 

'Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,  for  I  often  think  I  must  be 
very  tiresome  when  I  mount  my  hobby-horse.' 

'  You  will  find  your  hobby  a  hard  one  to  ride  in  this 
world,  Tom ;  for  your  way  is  so  divergent,  I  fear,  that 
you  will  often  be  lonesome  for  want  of  company.  You 
are  a  sad  Infidel,  Tom ;  nearly  as  bad  as  Tom  Paine  is 
estimated  to  be  by  Christians  generally.  And  this 
reminds  me,  do  not  the  Infidels  hold  meetings  in  Boston, 
and  have  you  ever  attended  them?' 

'They  do,  and  I  have  been  a  frequent  attendent  at 
their  meetings.  I  admire  these  people  for  their  moral 
courage  and  their  sensible  humanitarian  ideas.' 

'  I'd  like  to  go  with  you  and  hear  them  some  time.' 

'  You  shall  go,  and,  more  than  that,  I  will  procure  you 


48  IN  FETTERS: 

an  introduction  to  the  editor  of  the  Investigator,  which 
is  the  organ  of  the  Infidels  in  the  United  States.  But 
come,  let  us  go  back  to  our  boarding  house.' 

After  breakfast  was  over,  Tom  said  to  his  friend : 
'I  must  tell  you  something  in  regard  to  my  life  in 
this  city,  which  will  perhaps  explain  some  things  for 
your  enlightenment.  You  may  or  may  not  be  aware  of 
the  fact  that  I  have  not  drawn  upon  my  father  for  means 
of  support  for  over  a  year.  At  any  rate,  I  have  not 
asked  or  received  a  shilling  from  him  in  that  time. 
When  he  wrote  asking  why  I  did  not,  I  replied  that  I 
was  earning  enough  to  board  and  clothe  myself,  and  pay 
tuition  fees,  but  did  not  say  what  I  was  doing  to  earn 
money. 

'Now,  I'll  tell  you:  I  have  a  kind  of  independent 
position  on  one  of  the  leading  daily  papers  here,  and  do 
editorial  and  other  writing  for  it.  Thanks  to  Isaac 
Pitman,  I  have  been  enabled  to  combine  pleasure,  or 
rather  instruction,  with  business.  I  report  sermons, 
speeches,  lectures,  and  in  the  evenings  devote  my  time 
mostly  to  this  work,  to  looking  over  exchange  papers, 
writing,  and  in  the  college  term  to  study.  I  shall  receive 
my  diploma  at  the  close  this  term,  and  then,  perhaps,  put 
out  my  shingle.  Here  it  is,  all  ready  to  put  in  place  on 
"the  outer  wall.'" 

THOMAS  G ASTON,  M.D. , 
PHYSICIAN     AND     SURGEON. 

'  Tom,'  said  Cluney,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  'let  me 
thank  you  for  being  so  frank  with  me.  You  are  frank 
ness  itself  in  all  things  —  as  frank  as  you  are  courageous. 
Indeed,  the  one  always  accompanies  the  other,  at  least 
in  young  men.  Well,  let  me  in  turn  confide  to  you  the 


THE   MAN    OR   THE    PRIEST?  49 

fact  that,  on  the  eve  of  my  departure  from  Chebucto, 
your  good  mother  desired  me  to  find  out  just  what  you 
were  doing,  and  to  give  you  this  purse  of  one  hundred 
gold  sovereigns,  and  her  blessing.  You  see,  she  thought 
you  might  perhaps  need  a  few  pounds,  and  was  too 
proud  to  ask  your  father  for  money.' 

'  Heaven  bless  her,  my  dear  good  mother !  I  suspect, 
however,  that  she  thought  that  the  reason  for  my  not 
going  home  was  a  financial  one,  which,  as  you  now  see, 
is  not  the  case.  Well,  though  I  do  not  need  this  money, 
I  will  accept  it,  for  I  know  it  would  pain  her  to  refuse 
it,  and  I  would  not  willingly  give  her  pain. 

'But  now  I  must  to  work.  Will  you  go  with  me  to 
the  office,  and  wait  till  I  get  through  my  work?  I  will 
give  you  papers  to  read,  and  in  an  hour  or  so  can  go  out 
with  you,  and  we  will  then  hire  a  team  and  take  a  drive 
out  through  Cambridge  and  Brookline,  where  you  will 
see  many  elegant  private  residences,  as  well  as  the  Har 
vard  College  buildings.' 

'I  am  at  your  service,'  said  Cluney;  and  the  friends 
forthwith  repaired  to  the  office  of  the  Daily  Times,  at  the 
head  of  State  street. 

Here  they  entered  a  dingy  office,  with  two  desks,  some 
chairs  half  occupied  with  newspapers,  piles  of  opened 
papers  here  and  there,  a  well-worn  dictionary,  and  much 
dust-covered  rubbish  peculiar  to  an  old-time  newspaper 
office  in  Boston.  One  of  the  desks  was  occupied  by  a 
tall  and  somewhat  slim  man,  with  side  whiskers,  bright, 
keen  black  eyes,  but  careworn  face.  He  was  the  editor 
and  proprietor  of  the  Times.  Tom  exchanged  pleasant 
greetings  with  him,  and  then  introduced  his  friend,  who 
was  cordially  saluted,  and  invited  to  take  a  seat. 


60  IN   FETTEKS: 

Excusing  himself  on  account  of  press  of  business,  the 
editor  then  turned  to  Tom  Gaston,  and  gave  him  some 
directions  in  regard  to  a  leading  article  for  the  issue  of 
the  following  morning,  and  requested  him  to  do  a  half- 
dozen  minor  things,  and  then  resumed  his  work.  Tom 
first  took  up  the  smaller  matters,  which  consisted  in 
'boiling  down'  articles  from  exchanges,  and  interlarding 
them  with  comments  of  his  own.  He  handed  his  friend 
some  papers  to  read  in  the  meantime,  and  the  silence  of 
the  dingy  office  was  broken  only  by  a  scratching  noise 
of  the  pens  on  paper,  made  by  editor  and  assistant. 
Then,  when  he  had  finished  the  smaller  matters — which 
took  him  about  two  hours  to  accomplish  —  Tom  arose, 
and,  handing  what  he  had  written  to  the  editor,  said : 

'I  will  have  the  leader  ready  for  you  by  evening,  and 
will  send  it  down  by  messenger.  I  must  now  keep  my 
promise  to  my  guest,  and  give  him  a  glimpse  of  our 
suburbs.' 

'Do  so,'  was  the  reply,  'and,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Gaston, 
here  is  a  line  to  the  Blank  livery  stable  where  my  team 
is.  Take  it.  The  exercise  will  do  the  horse  good,  and 
I  will  not  want  to  use  him  before  the  evening.' 

'Many  thanks,'  said  Tom,  'I  will  take  your  team,  and 
return  it  to  the  stable  by  four  o'clock,  at  the  latest.' 

'It  was  clever  and  thoughtful  of  your  editor  to  offer 
you  his  team,'  said  Cluney,  after  the  friends  had  left  the 
office,  'and  you  did  quite  right  in  accepting  the  offer. 
A  clever  man  like  that  usually  means  what  he  says  when 

v  %J 

he  offers  to   do  a  friendly   act,  and  would   be  hurt  by  a 
refusal.' 

'Yes,  and  under  the  cii'cumstances  a  refusal  would  be 
positively  rude,  for  his  offer  was  solely  a  matter  of  hospi- 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PEIEST?  51 

tality  for  your  benefit.  He  never  made  such  an  offer  to 
me  before,  and  I  am  satisfied  .that  he  would  not  have 
done  so  today  if  you  were  not  in  the  question.  Well, 
we  shall  have  a  fine  time  of  it,  for  his  turnout  is  one  of 
the  best  in  Boston.' 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  ride  of  the  day  was  a 
most  enjoyable  one,  and  included  a  good  dinner  at 
Porter's,  in  North  Cambridge. 

'These  are  beautiful  suburbs,'  remarked  Cluney. 
'  There  are  elegant  places  in  Cambridge  and  Brookline, 
—  equal  in  many  respects  to  the  surroundings  of  Dublin, 
though  you  have  not  the  elaborate  mansions  that  are 
to  be  found  around  the  Irish  capital.  But  there  are 
comparatively  few  of  these,  while  in  your  suburbs  fine 
dwellings  and  well  kept  grounds  are  the  rule ;  and  your 
roads  are  nearly  if  not  quite  as  good  as  our  Irish  roads.' 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MORE  OF  THOMAS  GASTON's  MATERIALISM THEODORE 

PARKER  ON  THE  ROMAN  CATHOLIC  CHURCH. 

'Shall  we  take  another  morning  walk?'  asked  Tom, 
on  the  day  following,  which  was  Saturday. 

'Yes,  to  be  sure,'  replied  Cluney,  'and  we  can  renew 
our  talk  on  physics,  or,  if  you  will,  metaphysics.' 

So  they  took  their  way,  after  the  morning  meal,  down 
to  the  Common,  and  along  the  Beacon  street  mall,  out  to 
the  Milldam,  which  began  at  the  Public  Garden,  which 
latter  was  protected  from  the  waters  of  the  Back  Bay, 
or  empty  basin,  so  called,  above  the  Milldam,  by  a  dyke 


52  IN  FETTERS: 

or  embankment,  just  on  the  eastern  line  of  Arlington 
street  of  today.  The  gra.de  of  the  Garden  was  several 
feet  lower  than  the  embankment,  which  was  on  a  level 
with  the  Milldam  road,  now  a  part  of  Beacon  street. 

The  friends  walked  out  over  the  Milldam,  the  history 
of  which  improvement  Tom  recited  to  his  friend.  The 
idea  was  to  keep  the  tide  out  of  this  section  of  the  bay, 
and  by  allowing  it  to  flow  into  the  other  section  through 
a  tide  gate,  and  holding  it  there,  direct  its  flow  into  the 
so-called  empty  basin,  through  flumes  which  carried  the 
water  to  the  waterwheels,  converting  the  water  into 
power  for  the  purpose  of  grinding  wheat  into  flour. 

'  That  was  a  great  enterprise,'  remarked  Cluney. 

'  It  seemed  so,'  replied  Tom,  '  but  it  never  amounted 
to  anything  profitable  to  the  investors.  There  is  now  a 
foundry  on  it,  the  machinery  of  which  is  run  by  water. 
I  expect  to  see  the  day  when  this  whole  territory  will  be 
filled  in  and  built  upon.' 

'Tom,  you  are  an  optimist  in  all  matters  of  material 
progress,  though  a  sad  pessimist  in  religious  matters.' 

•'It  is  because  I  believe  in  substance,  while  what  is 
shadow,  so  to  speak,  is  so  much  a  matter  of  fancy  that  it 
is  too  unsubstantial  for  serious  consideration  —  except 
for  churchmen,  who  find  in  it  a  rich  mine  for  human 
investment,  on  which  they  receive  all  the  dividends.' 

'Do  you  really  think  there  is  nothing  in  religion, 
Tom?' 

'  If  you  would  change  your  question  to  embrace  the 
ology  instead  of  religion,  I  would  say  I  know  there  is 
nothing  in  it  beyond  the  glorious  possibilities  of  a  snug 
profession  for  the  sons  of  mediocrity,  or  where  ability 
may  have  its  soaring  wings  clipped.  As  to  real  religion, 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  53 

comprised  in  the  teaching  of  moral  ethics,  and  their  prac 
tice,  and  the  cultivation  of  social  practices  and  brotherly 
love  —  a  community  of  mutual  good- will  and  thoughtful 
living — that  is  a  thing  I  fully  believe  in.  It  is  at  once 
the  offspring  and  the  parent  of  all  true  civilization ;  and, 
indeed,  what  progress  has  been  made  in  our  civilization 
comes  from  this  leaven  which  is  operating  in  spite  of  all 
adverse  influences.  I  would  not  do  away  with  religion 
any  more  than  I  would  destroy  civilization,  whose  hand 
maid  it  is.  But  I  would  divorce  it  from  the  fetichism  of 
barbarism,  which  had  its  origin  in  ancestor  worship,  and 
changed  to  hero  worship  and  to  that  of  the  gods.  Our 
modern  Christian  God  is  as  great  an  improvement  on  the 
early  Christian  one  as  the  latter  was  on  the  Jewish  Je 
hovah.  But  the  theologians  have  so  metamorphosed  the 
real  religion  by  enveloping  it  in  the  ghostly  shroud  of 
fetichism  that  it  is  more  promotive  of  fear  and  selfishness 
than  of  the  nobler  instincts  of  our  nature.  It  tends  to 
make  slaves  and  cowards  of  men,  and  to  take  from  life 
much  that  is  worth  living  for.  A  man  must  either  stifle 
his  reason  or  be  damned  for  doubting.  I  would  rather 
be  in  hell  with  the  free  and  fearless  thinkers  of  the  world 
—  the  noble  spirits  who  have  suffered  for  exercising  the 
rights  of  manhood  —  than  in  heaven  with  cruel  priests 
and  the  cringing  cowards  who  obey  them ! ' 

'  Tom,  I  sympathize  with  your  feeling,  if  not  with  your 
judgment.  What  a  glorious  martyr  you  would  have  been 
had  you  lived  in  the  heroic  days  of  Christian  martyrdom  ! 
But,  to  return  to  the  subject,  do  you  think  people  would 
be  satisfied  with  a  religion  of  pure  morality  —  one  that 
did  not  hold  out  any  hope  of  a  future  existence,  and  a 
system  of  rewards  and  punishments  ? ' 


54  IN  FETTERS: 

*  I  hold  it  to  be  wrong,  outrageously  dishonest,  in  fact, 
to  promise  what  you  know  you  have  not,  and  to  make 
dupes  of  the  honest  fools  who  believe  you.  Of  course 
the  people  who  have  been  fed  on  such  visionary  hopes 
and  fears,  would  be  loath  to  surrender  them,  as  in 
the  case  of  users  of  liquor  and  tobacco.  They  would  still 
want  the  good  (themselves)  rewarded,  and  the  wicked 
(the  other  people)  punished.  Now,  the  acceptance  of 
these  very  shadowy  conceptions,  and  the  hopes  and  fears 
which  they  excite,  induce  two  conditions  among  men 
which  are  baneful.  One  is,  that  men  are  made  intensely 
selfish  by  them,  and  act  as  if  their  motto  was,  'every  one 
for  himself,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.'  The 
other  is,  that  it  fosters  a  system  of  mental  domination  on 
the  part  of  priests  —  I  use  the  term  in  the  broad  sense  as 
including  all  ministers  who  preach  about  what  they  know 
nothing  of — who  claim  to  represent  the  ruling  power 
of  the  universe,  when  they  do  not  do  so  any  more  than 
the  steam  engine  which  converts  energy  into  power; 
while  on  the  part  of  the  people  there  is  established  a 
mental  slavery  which  has  had  an  enervating  as  well  as  a 
retarding  effect  upon  the  social  and  industrial  evolution 
of  the  human  race.' 

'How  do  you  make  that  out,  Tom?'  asked  the  master. 

'I  have  read  history,  and  I  know  that  it  comes  to  us 
strained  through  theological  meshes.  But,  by  a  fearless 
analysis  of  cause  and  effect  in  it,  I  can  trace  progression 
in  just  the  ratio  that  peoples  and  nations  have  practised 
materialistic  ideas  in  preference  to  the  ghostly  ones. 
Science  has  grown  in  spite  of  the  most  iniquitous  system 
of  persecution  ever  organized  against  the  right  develop 
ment  of  knowledge  of  the  physical  forces  in  nature,  the 


THE    MAN    OK   THE    PKIEST?  55 

only  tangible  things  which  we  can  deal  with  in  our 
struggles  through  life.  Ignorant  and  narrow-minded 
condemnation  of  true  knowledge  has  ever  prevailed  in 
the- churches,  while  assumed  piety  and  pretended  asceti 
cism  have  been  honored  and  their  pretenders  canonized.' 

'Do  you  mean  to  say  that  all  churchmen  are  ignor 
amuses  or  dishonest?' 

'  I  think  the  ruling  spirits  of  the  churches  have  been 
in  a  measure  ignorant  of  the  real  nature  of  natural  laws 
and  phenomena  or  have  been  dishonest  in  the  fact  that 
they  considered  the  knowledge  to  be  thus  acquired 
would  loosen  their  hold  upon  the  masses  of  mankind. 
Do  not  the  Catholic  rulers  hold  that  it  is  better  to  keep 
the  world  in  ignorance  rather  than  risk  the  loss  of  souls 
or  their  damnation  through  the  scepticism  and  resulting 
impiety  of  those  who  obtain  knowledge  of  natural  laws? 
For  it  seems  to  be  a  fact  that  scientific  knowledge,  which 
is  the  acquirement  of  right  ideas  and  conceptions  of  our 
condition  and  surroundings  in  this  world,  always  loosens 
and  in  many  cases  cuts  the  bonds  which  theology  has 
bound  humanity  in.' 

'  There  is  much  truth  in  what  you  say,  Tom,  as  1  can 
vouch  in  my  own  person.  I  am  not  orthodox,  though  I 
fail  to  see,  in  the  way  you  present  them,  the  objections 
to  theology,  or  that,  as  a  system,  it  has  had  a  repressive 
influence  upon  human  intelligence.  You  must  allow  that 
there  have  been  other  predominating  influences  in  human 
affairs  which  may  be  fairly  made  as  chargeable  for  the 
persecution  and  discouragement  of  scientific  investigation, 
and  that  the  church  has  had  an  important  influence  in 
the  affairs  of  nations,  and  has  done  a  really  noble  work.' 

*  This  reminds  me  of  what  Theodore  Parker  said  of  the 


56  IN  FETTERS: 

Catholic  church  in  a  recent  lecture.  I  have  it  here  in 
my  notes.  Shall  I  read  some  extracts  to  you?' 

'  I  would  like  very  much  to  hear  them.  Suppose  we 
sit  down  while  you  read?' 

'Very  well,'  said  Tom,  taking  out  his  note-book.  'I 
will  read  them  to  you.  In  estimating  the  merits  of  the 
Catholic  church,  he  said: 

"  The  peculiar  merit  of  the  Catholic  church  consists  in 
its  assertion  of  the  truth,  that  God  still  inspires  mankind 
as  much  as  ever;  that  he  has  not  exhausted  himself  in 
the  creation  of  a  Moses,  or  a  Jesus,  the  law,  or  the  Gos 
pel,  but  is  present  and  active  in  spirit  as  in  space.  Ad 
mitting  this  truth,  so  deep,  so  vital  to  the  race  —  a  truth 
preserved  in  the  religions  of  Egypt,  Greece  and  Rome, 
and  above  all  in  the  Jewish  faith — clothing  itself  with 
all  the  authority  of  ancient  days ;  the  word  of  God  in  its 
hands  both  tradition  and  Scripture ;  believing  it  had 
God's  infallible  and  exclusive  inspiration  at  its  heart,  for 
such  no  doubt  was  the  real  belief,  and  actually,  through 
its  Christian  character,  combining  in  itself  the  best 
interests  of  mankind,  no  wonder  it  prevailed.  Its  coun 
tenance  became  as  lightning.  It  stood  and  measured  the 
earth.  It  drove  asunder  the  nations.  It  went  forth  in 
the  mingling  tides  of  civilized  corruption  and  barbarian 
ferocity,  for  the  salvation  of  the  people  —  conquering 
and  to  conquer ;  its  brightness  as  the  light. 

"  It  separated  the  spiritual  from  the  temporal  power, 
which  had  been  more  or  less  united  in  the  theocracies  of 
India,  Egypt  and  Judea,  and  which  can  only  be  united 
to  the  lasting  detriment  of  mankind.  The  church,  in 
theory,  stood  on  a  basis  purely  moral ;  it  rose  in  spite  of 
the  state,  in  the  midst  of  its  persecutions.  At  first  it 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  57 

shunned  all  temporal  affairs,  and  never  allowed  a  tem 
poral  power  to  be  superior  to  itself.  The  department  of 
political  action  belonged  to  the  state,  that  of  intellectual 
and  religious  action  —  the  stablest  and  strongest  power 
—  to  the  church.  Hence  its  care  of  education;  hence 
the  influence  it  exerted  on  literature." 

'  He  is  a  candid  reader  of  history,'  remarked  Cluney. 

'  Glad  you  think  so,'  said  Tom,  and  resumed  his  notes. 

"Ancient  Rome  was  the  city  of  organizations  and 
practical  rules.  Nowhere  was  the  individual  so  thor 
oughly  subordinated  to  the  state.  War,  science,  and  lust,  • 
of  old  time,  had  here  incarnated  themselves.  The  same 
practical  spirit  organized  the  church,  with  its  dictator,  its 
senate,  and  its  legions.  The  discipline  of  the  clerical 
class,  their  union,  zeal,  and  commanding  skill  gave  them 
the  solidity  of  the  phalanx  and  the  celerity  of  the  legion. 
The  church  prevailed  as  much  by  its  organization  as  by 
its  doctrine.  What  could  a  band  of  loose-girt  apostles^ 
each  warring  on  his  own  account,  avail  against  the  refuge 
of  lies, where  strength  and  sin  had  entrenched  themselves, 
and  sworn  never  to  yield?  An  organized  church  was 
demanded  by  the  necessities  of  the  time ;  an  association 
of  soldiers  called  for  an  army  of  saints." 

'That  is  well  and  tersely  presented,'   observed  Cluney. 

<It  is,'  said  Tom,  and  read  on. 

"A  sensual  people  required  forms,  the  church  gave 
them ;  superstitious  rites,  divination,  images,  the  church 
—  obdurate  as  steel  when  the  occasion  demands,  but 
pliant  as  molten  metal  when  yielding  is  required  —  the 
church  allowed  this.  Its  forms  grew  out  of  the  wants  of 
the  time  and  place. 

"  Was  there  no  danger  that  the  priesthood,  thus  able 


58  IN  FETTERS: 

and  thus  organized,  should  become  ambitious  of  wealth 
and  power?  The  greatest  danger  was  that  fathers  should 
seek  to  perpetuate  authority  for  their  children.  But 
this  class  of  men,  cut  off  from  posterity  by  the  prohibi 
tion  of  marriage,  in  the  midst  of  feudal  institutions  where 
all  depended  on  birth;  when  descent  from  a  successful 
pirate,  or  some  desperate  free-booter,  secured  a  man 
elevation,  political  power,  and  wealth;  the  clergy  were 
cut  off  from  all  inducements  to  accumulate  authority.  In 
that  long  period,  from  Alaric  to  Columbus,  when  the 
church  had  ample  revenues  ;  the  most  able  and  cultivated 
men  in  her  ranks,  so  thoroughly  disciplined;  the  awful 
power  over  souls  of  men,  far  more  formidable  than  bayo 
nets,  skilfully  plied;  with  an  acknowledged  claim  to 
miraculous  inspiration  and  divine  authority,  were  it  not 
for  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy — damnable  institution,  and 
pregnant  with  mischief  as  it  was — we  should  have  had 
a  sacredotal  caste,  the  Levites  of  Christianity,  whose 
little  linger  would  have  been  thicker  than  the  loins  of  all 
the  former  Levites,  and  the  dawn  of  a  better  day  must 
have  been  deferred  for  thousands  of  years.  The  world 
is  managed  wiser  than  some  men  fancy." 

'He  has  the  faculty  of  a  giant  in  the  use  of  language,' 
interjected  Cluney. 

'True,'  said  Tom,  and  resumed:  "The  church,  react 
ing  against  the  sensuality  and  excessive  publicity  of  the 
heathen  world,  in  its  establishment  of  convents  and  mon 
asteries,  opened  asylums  for  delicate  spirits  that  could 
not  bear  the  rage  of  savage  life;  afforded  a  hospital  for 
men  sick  of  the  fever  of  the  world,  worn-out  and  shat 
tered  in  the  storms  of  state,  who  craved  a  little  rest  for 
sweet  charity's  sake,  before  they  went  where  the  wicked 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  59 

ceased  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 
Among  the  sensual  the  saint  is  always  the  anchorite; 
religion  gets  as  far  as  possible  from  the  world.  Rude 
men  require  obvious  forms  and  sensible  shocks  to  their 
roughness.  The  very  place  where  the  monks  prayed 
and  the  nuns  sang  was  sacred  from  the  ruthless  robber. 
As  he  drew  near  it  the  tiger  was  tame  within  him;  the 
mailed  warrior  kissed  the  ground,  and  religion  awoke  in 
his  heart.  The  fear  of  hell,  and  reverence  for  the  spot, 
chained  up  the  devil  for  a  time." 

'  That  description  couldn't  be  bettered  by  any  Catholic 
writer,'  said  Cluney.  '  It  is  wonderfully  and  tersely  des 
criptive,  and  true.' 

'Perhaps  it  is,'  said  Tom,  and  went  on  reading: 
"Then  the  church  had  a  most  diffusive  spirit;  it 
would  Christianize  as  fast  as  the  state  would  conquer ;  its 
missionaries  were  found  in  the  courts  of  barbarian  mon- 
archs,  in  the  caves  and  dens  of  the  savage,  diffusing 
their  doctrine  and  singing  their  hymns.  Creating  an 
organization  the  most  perfect  the  world  ever  saw;  with  a 
policy  wiser  than  any  monarch  had  dreamed  of,  and 
which  grew  more  perfect  with  the  silent  accretions  of 
time;  with  address  to  allure  the  ambitious  to  its  high 
places,  and  so  turn  all  their  energy  into  its  deep  wide 
channel;  with  mysteries  to  charm  the  philosophic,  and 
fill  the  fancy  of  the  rude;  with  practical  doctrines  for 
earnest  workers,  and  subtle  questions,  always  skilfully 
left  open  for  men  of  acute  discernment;  with  rites  and 
ceremonies  addressed  to  every  sense,  rousing  the  mind 
like  a  Grecian  drama,  and  promising  a  participation  with 
God  through  the  sacrament;  with  wisdom  enough  to 
bring  men  really  filled  with  religion  into  its  ranks;  with 


60  IN  FETTERS: 

good  sense  and  good  taste  to  employ  all  the  talent  of 
the  times  in  the  music,  the  statues,  the  painting,  the 
architecture  of  the  temple,  thus  consecrating  all  the 
powers  of  man  to  man's  noblest  work;  with  so  much  of 
Christian  truth  as  the  world  in  its  wickedness  could  not 
forget,  — no  wonder  the  church  spread  wide  her  influ 
ence;  sat  like  a  queen  among  nations,  saying  to  one  GO, 
and  it  went,  to  another  COME,  and  it  came." 

'Why  this  is  admirable,'  said  Cluney.  'It  is  a  string 
of  rhetorical  pearls,  and  every  pearl  a  truth.' 

'  Perhaps,'  rejoined  Tom,  and  resumed  reading : 

"  Then,  again,  its  character,  in  theory,  was  kindly  and 
humane.  It  softened  the  asperity  of  secular  wars;  forbid 
them  in  sacred  seasons ;  established  its  Truce  of  God,  and 
gave  a  chance  for  rage  to  abate.  Against  the  king,  it 
espoused  the  cause  of  the  people.  With  somewhat  in  its 
worst  days  of  the  spirit  of  him  who  gave  his  life  a  ran 
som  for  many ;  with  much  of  it  really  active  in  its  best 
days  and  its  theory  at  all  times,  the  church  stood  up,  for 
long  ages,  the  only  bulwark  of  freedom.  It  came  be 
tween  the  haughty  feudal  baron  and  the  captive,  serf, 
slave,  and  defenceless  maiden,  and  stayed  the  insatiate 
hand.  Its  curse  blasted  like  lightning.  Even  in  feudal 
times,  it  knew  no  distinction  of  birth ;  all  were  'conceived 
in  sin,'  '  shapen  in  iniquity,'  alike  the  peasant  and  the 
peer.  The  distinction  of  birth  was  apparent,  not  real. 
Yet  were  all  children  of  God,  who  judged  the  heart,  and 
knew  no  man's  person ;  all  heirs  of  heaven,  for  whom 
prophets  and  apostles  had  uplifted  their  voice ;  yes,  for 
whom  God  had  worn  this  weary,  wasting  weed  of  flesh, 
and  died  a  culprit's  death.' 

'  That's  all  true,  Tom,  —  true  as  holy  writ ! ' 


THE   MAN   OK   THE    PRIEST  ?  61 

'  No  doubt,'  said  Tom,  dryly,  and  continued  reading : 
"  The  influence  of  the  church  is  perhaps  greater  than 
even  its  friends  maintain.  It  laid  its  hands  on  the  poor 
and  down-trodden ;  they  were  raised,  fed,  and  comforted. 
It  rejected,  with  loathing,  from  its  coffers,  wealth  got  by 
extortion  and  crime.  It  touched  the  shackles  of  the 
slave,  and  the  serf  arose  disenthralled,  the  brother  of  the 
peer.  It  annihilated  slavery,  which  Protestant  cupidity 
would  keep  forever.  It  touched  the  diadem  of  a  wicked 
king,  and  it  became  a  crown  of  thorns ;  the  monarch's 
sceptre  was  a  broken  reed  before  the  crozier  of  the  church. 
It  limited  the  power  of  kings,  and  gave  religious  educa 
tion  to  the  people,  which  no  ancient  institution  aimed  to 
impart.  It  had  ceremonies  for  the  sensual ;  confessionals 
for  the  pious  —  needed  and  beautiful  in  their  time  — 
labors  of  love  for  the  true-hearted ;  pictures  and  images 
to  arouse  devotion  in  the  man  of  taste;  temples  whose 
aspiring  turrets  and  sombre  vaults  filled  the  kneeling 
crowd  with  awe ;  it  had  doctrines  for  the  wise ;  rebukes 
for  the  wicked ;  prayers  for  the  reverent ;  hopes  for  the 
holy,  and  blessings  for  the  true.  It  sanctified  the  babe, 
newly  born  and  welcome  ;  watched  over  marriage  with  a 
jealous  eye ;  fostered  good  morals ;  helped  men,  even  by 
its  symbols,  to  pai-take  the  divine  nature ;  smoothed  the 
pillow  of  disease  and  death,  giving  the  soul  wings,  as  it 
were,  to  welcome  the  death-angel,  and  gently,  calmly, 
pass  away.  It  assured  masculine  piety  of  its  reward  in 
heaven ;  told  the  weak  and  wavering  that  divine  beings 
would  help  him,  if  faithful.  In  the  honors  of  canoniza 
tion,  it  promised  the  most  lasting  fame  on  earth ;  genera 
tions  to  come  should  call  the  good  man  a  blessed  saint, 
and  his  name  endure  while  theChristian  year  went  round." 


62  IN   FETTEKS: 

'Why,  Tom,'  said  Cluney,  'this  man's  eloquence  con 
founds  me.  He  is  a  panegyrist,  rather  than  a  critic.' 

'  Hold  on,'  said  Tom,  '  do  not  be  too  hasty  in  your  con 
clusions.  Now  hear  what  he  says  in  criticism :' 

"But  the  church  had  vices,  vast  and  awful  to  the 
thought.  As  its  distinctive  excellence  was  to  proclaim 
the  continuance  of  inspiration,  so  its  sacramental  sin  was 
in  limiting  this  inspiration  to  itself,  thus  setting  bounds 
to  the  spirit  of  God  and  the  soul  of  man.  The  wondrous 
mechanism  of  the  church  and  much  of  its  power  came 
from  this  false  assumption,  that  it  alone  had  the  word  of 
God.  So  its  organization  was  based  on  a  lie,  and  re 
quired  new  lies  to  uphold,  and  prophets  of  lies  to  defend 
it.  Its  servants,  the  priests,  became  proud  of  spirit. 
The  only  keepers  of  Scripture  and  tradition ;  the  only 
recipients  of  inspiration  they  forbid  free  inquiry  as  of  no 
use ;  stifled  conscience  as  only  leading  men  into  troiible ; 
and  excommunicated  Common  Sense,  who  asked  'terrible 
questions,'  calling  for  the  title  deeds  of  the  church. 
They  went  further,  and  forbid  the  banns  between  Rea 
son  and  Religion ;  and  when  the  parties  insisted  on  the 
union,  turned  them  both  out  of  doors  with  a  curse.  The 
laity  must  not  approach  God,  as  the  clergy;  must  only 
commune  with  Him  in  one  kind. 

"The  church  forgot  God  grants  inspiration  to  no  one 
except  on  condition  he  conforms  to  the  divine  law,  living 
pure  and  true,  and  grants  it  only  in  proportion  to  his 
gifts  and  his  use  thereof;  so  relying  upon  the  office  and 
'apostolic  succession'  for  inspiration,  the  priests  lived 
shameless  and  wicked  lives,  rivalling  Sardanapalus  and 
Domitian  in  their  cruelty  and  sin.  They  became  spirit 
ual  tyrants,  forcing  all  men  to  utter  the  same  creed, 


THE    MAN   OB   THE    PRIEST?  63 

submit  to  the  same  rite,  reverence  the  same  symbols,  and 
be  holy  in  the  same  way." 

'Without  creed,  rites  and  symbols,  what  would  the 
church  have  been?' interrupted Cluney,  —  'Its  ties  would 
have  been  like  ropes  of  sand.' 

'  True,'  said  Tom.  'To  bind  men  body  and  soul,  as  it 
did,  it  needed  stronger  fetters,  and  accordingly  it  forged 
and  used  them.  But  I  will  continue  Mr.  Parker's  pane 
gyric  of  the  Catholic  church.  He  says,  following  what 
I  have  read  you: 

"  In  its  zeal  to  separate  the  spiritual  power  from  tem 
poral  hands  the  church  took  what  was  not  its  own  — 
power  over  men's  bodies ;  and  made  laws  for  the  state. 
In  its  haste  to  give  preeminence  to  spiritual  things,  it 
made  its  offices  a  bribe,  greater  than  the  state  could  give. 
The  honor  of  sainthood — what  was  the  fame  of  king 
and  conqueror  to  that?  It  promised  the  rewards  of  high 
clerical  office,  and  even  of  canonization,  to  the  most  mer 
cenary  and  cruel  of  men,  whose  touch  was  pollution. 
Its  list  of  saints  is  full  of  knaves  and  despots.  The  state 
was  taken  into  the  church — a  refractory  member.  The 
Flesh  and  the  Devil  were  baptized;  'took  holy  orders;' 
governed  the  church  in  some  cases,  but  were  still  the 
Flesh  and  the  Devil,  though  called  by  a  Christian  name. 
That  divine  man,  whose  name  is  ploughed  into  the 
world,  said :  '  If  a  man  smite  thee  on  one  cheek,  turn 
the  other;'  but  if  a  man  lifted  his  hand  or  voice  against 
the  church — it  blasted  him  with  damnation  and  hell." 

'Here,'  slily  remarked  Tom,  'is  another  of  your  strings 
of  rhetorical  pearls  —  what  are  they?' 

'They  have  a  black  look,'  said  Cluney,  'for  the 
church.' 


64  IN    FETTEKS: 

"Christ  said  his  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world;  so 
said  the  church  at  first,  and  Christians  refused  to  war, 
to  testify  in  courts,  to  appear  in  the  theatres,  and  foul 
their  hands  with  the  world's  sin.  But  soon  as  there  was 
an  organized  priesthood,  to  defend  themselves  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  state,  to  exercise  authority  over  the  souls 
of  men,  power  on  the  earth  became  needed.  One  lie 
leads  to  many.  What  the  church  first  took  in  self- 
defence  it  afterwards  clung  to  and  increased,  and  was  so 
taken  up  with  the  earthly  kingdom  it  quite  forgot  its 
patrimony  in  heaven ;  so  it  played  a  double  game, 
attempting  to  serve  God,  and  keep  on  good  terms  witli 
the  devil.  But  it  was  once  said,  'no  man  can  serve  two 
masters.'  Unnatural,  spiritual  power  could  not  be  held 
without  temporal  authority  to  sustain  it;  so  the  church 
1oo'c  fleshly  weapons  for  its  carnal  ends.  Monks  raised 
armies;  bishops  led  them;  God  was  blasphemed  by 
prayers  to  aid  bloodshed." 

'That,'  said  Cluney,  'is  a  strong  arraignment,  with  no 
doubt  some  truth  in  it.  But'  — 

'Hold  on,'  said  Tom,  'I  will  read  a  few  more  extracts, 
and  then  we  can  talk  it  over  as.we  walk  back.' 

"The  church  was  the  exclusive  vicar  of  God;  she 
must  have  'the  tonnage  and  the  poundage  of  all  free- 
spoken  truth.'  To  accomplish  this  end  and  establish 
her  dogmas,  she  slew  men,  beginning  with  Priscillian 
and  '  the  six  Gnostics,'  in  the  fourth  century,  at  Triers, 
and  ending  no  one  knows  where,  or  when,  or  with  whom. 
It  had  such  zeal  for  the  '  unity  of  the  faith,'  that  it  put 
prophets  in  chains ;  asked  the  sons  of  God  if  they  were 
'greater  than  Jacob.'  It  made  Belief  take  the  place  of 
Life.  It  absolved  men  of  their  sins,  past,  present,  and 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  65 

future.  Emancipated  the  clergy  from  the  secular  law, 
thus  giving  them  license  to  sin.  It  sold  heaven  to 
extortioners  for  a  little  gold,  and  built  St.  Peters  with 
the  spoil.  It  wrung  ill-gotten  gains  out  of  tyrants  on 
their  death-bed ;  devoured  the  houses  of  widows  and  the 
weak ;  built  its  cathedrals  out  of  the  spoils  of  orphans. 
It  was  greedy  of  gold  and  power,  and  at  one  time  had 
wellnigh  half  the  lands  of  England  held  in  mortmain. 
It  absolved  men  from  oaths;  broke  marriages;  told  lies; 
forged  charters  and  decretals ;  burned  the  philosophers  ; 
corrupted  the  classics ;  altered  the  words  of  the  Fathers ; 
changed  the  decisions  of  the  Councils,  and  filled  Europe 
with  its  falsehood.  It  fought  the  most  hideous  of  wars; 
evangelized  nations  with  the  sword;  laid  kingdoms 
under  interdict  to  gratify  its  pride." 

'Dear  me,'  interrupted  Cluney,  'this  is  a  terrible 
arraignment.' 

'It  is,'  said  Tom,  'but  let  me  give  you  a  few  more 
extracts.' 

"The  church  boasts  of  its  uniform  doctrine,  but  it 
changes  every  age ;  of  its  peaceful  spirit,  but  who  fought 
the  crusades,  the  wars  of  extermination  in  Switzerland, 
France,  the  Low  Countries?  To  whom  must  we  set 
down  the  ecclesiastical  butchery  that  filled  Europe  with 
funeral  piles?  It  quarreled  with  the  temporal  power, 
and  built  up  institutions  of  tyranny  to  suppress  truth; 
kept  the  bible  to  itself;  made  the  Greek  testament  a  pro 
hibited  book ;  brought  dead  men's  bones  into  the  tem 
ples,  for  the  living  to  worship,  and  worked  lying  wonders 
to  confirm  false  doctrine.  It  loved  the  night  of  the 
Dark  Ages,  and  clung  to  its  old  dogmas." 

'Oh,  oh!'    groaned    Cluney.     'Can    he    say   anything 


66  IN  FETTERS: 

worse  of  the  church  —  anything  that  can  equal  it  In 
severity,  or  shall  I  call  it  malignity  ? ' 

'  I  think  he  can,'  said  Tom.     '  Listen  to  this : ' 

"The  church  came  at  length  to  be  the  colossus  of 
crime,  with  a  thin  veil  of  hypocrisy  drawn  over  its  face, 
and  that  only.  The  vow  of  purity  its  children  took, 
became  a  license  for  sin.  The  corruptest  of. courts  was 
the  court  of  the  Pope.  What  reverence  had  the  arch 
bishops  for  the  doctrines  of  the  church?  Cardinal 
Bembo  bade  Sadolet  not  to  read  St.  Paul,  it  would  spoil 
his  taste.  In  early  ages  the  Apostles  were  the  devoutest 
of  men ;  in  later  days  their  '  successors '  were  steeped  to 
the  lips  in  crime." 

'There  is  more  of  this,'  remarked  Tom.  '  Shall  I  read 
it  to  you,  or  have  I  read  enough?' 

'Enough,  Tom,  enough!  Though  not  a  blind  believer 
in  everything  pertaining  to  the  Catholic  church,  I  .have 
been  a  student  of  her  history,  and  can  say  this  of  what 
you  have  read:  While  there  is  much  that  is  true  in  it, 
the  facts  are  so  warped  by  an  unfriendly  critic  that  they 
become  the  blackest  of  lies.  Many  of  them  are  stale, 
and  have  been  frequently  disproved.  Hallam,  I  see,  is 
freely  drawn  from,  as  well  as  other  writers  of  undoubted 
unfairness  and  enmity  to  the  church.' 

'Then  your  panegyrist  turns  out  to  be  a  maligner. 
Well,  I  suppose  a  man  is  largely  estimated  by  us  from 
the  fact  that  what  he  says  agrees  with  or  differs  from 
our  knowledge  or  conception  of  things.' 

'Largely  so,  I  confess,  Tom.' 

And  the  friends  retraced  their  steps.  On  the  way  into 
the  city  Cluney  asked: 

'Did  you  take  those  notes  for  publication,  Tom?' 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PRIEST?  67 

'I  did.  But  you  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you  that,  as 
both  Theodore  Parker  and  the  Catholic  church  are  not 
in  favor  in  Boston,  now,  where  the  leaven  of  Puritanism 
is  still  active,  I  could  not  get  the  report  published  in  any 
of  the  dailies  or  weeklies.  The  fact  is,  the  Irish  are  the 
under  dog  in  the  fight  here,  and  Irish  and  Roman  Catho 
lic  are  convertible  terms  at  this  time.' 

'Well,  Tom,  this  is  no  doubt  natural  enough — in  fact, 
existing  conditions  are  the  natural  outcome  of  pre-ex 
isting  ones,  always.  The  Irish  may  be  kept  down,  for  a 
time,  but  they  are  not  easily  repressed.  The  Catholic 
church  encourages  procreation,  and  the  people  who  have 
the  largest  families  will,  in  the  long  run,  become  the 
rulers  in  a  nation  of  democratic  usages,  where  Jack  has 
as  much  to  say  in  the  choice  of  rulers  as  his  master;  and 
why  shouldn't  they  ? ' 

'  I  agree  with  you,'  said  Tom.  '  American  city  fami 
lies  are  small;  Irish  families  are  large.  I  foresee  results.' 

'  Will  it  be  for  the  better,  think  you  ? '  asked  Cluney. 

*  It  may  be,'  said  Tom,  reflectively,  ' but  I  doubt  it.' 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MASTER    CLUNEY    VISITS    A    'PROFESSIONAL*    INFIDEL. 

'  Well,'  said  Tom,  after  supper,  '  what  shall  it  be  to 
night —  a  missionary  meeting,  or  a  visit  to  my  particular 
friend,  the  editor  of  the  Investigator?' 

'  I  confess,  Tom,  that  I  prefer  the  Infidel.  There  will 
be  freshness  there,  at  least,  and  perhaps  some  originality. 
I  think,  also,  after  the  Parker  purgative  of  the  afternoon, 


68  IN   FETTERS: 

that  a  dose  of  even  radical  infidelity  might  not  be  too 
drastic.  Besides,  I  have  a  curiosity  to  see  a  professional 
Infidel,  and  hear  him  talk.  I  know  I  shall  enjoy  it.' 

4 1  hope  you  will,'  responded  Tom. 

The  friends  then  took  .their  way  to  a  building  located 
near  the  head  of  Washington  street,  just  south  of  Corn- 
hill,  and  ascended  three  flights  of  stairs,  where  Tom 
opened  a  door  which  revealed  a  composing  room  and 
men  at  work  setting  type.  Going  through  this  to  an 
inner  room,  Tom  and  his  friend  found  seated  at  a  desk, 
a  stout,  well-built  man,  with  large  head,  full  eyes,  a 
square,  honest  face,  and  jaws  of  iron,  indicating  a  tena 
cious,  unyielding  and  even  aggressive  nature.  This  face 
appeared  to  wear  an  habitually  stern  look,  but  this 
vanished  at  once  into  an  expression  of  cordiality  when 
Tom  was  recognized,  and  his  friend  was  introduced. 

Rising  from  his  seat  and  cordially  grasping  the  hand 
of  the  stranger,  he  said — 

'  Mr.  Cluney,  I  am  glad  to  welcome  you  to  my  humble 
office  —  the  den  where  the  faithful  believe  1  am  in  the 
habit  of  hob-nobbing  with  the  devil  and  conspiring 
against  the  churches,  plotting  their  overthrow.  I  have 
just  given  out  my  last  piece  of  copy  to  the  printers,  and 
feel  like  the  man  who  has  carried  his  burden  to  its 
destination  and  taken  it  from  his  shoulders.' 

This  was  Horace  Seaver.  He  was  a  man  between 
thirty  and  forty  years  of  age,  with  much  of  native  vigor 
derived  from  a  strong  physique,  and  a  good  fund  of 
animal  spirits,  the  result  of  a  good  digestion.  His  fore 
head  was  high  and  massive,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  the 
reflective  expression  of  the  philosopher  rather  than  the 
searching  look  of  the  man  of  the  world. 


THE    MAN    OU    THE    PIUEST?  69 

'My  friend,'  said  Tom,  'preferred  a  visit  to  you  to 
night  rather  than  go  to  a  lecture,  concert,  or  a  mis 
sionary  meeting,  and  that  accounts  for  our  presence 
here.' 

'  Well,'  was  Mr.  Seaver's  reply,  '  I  would  feel  flattered 
if  I  thought  your  friend  did  not  choose  me  as  being 
more  of  a  curiosity  than  the  others.' 

'To  tell  the  truth,'  said  Cluney,  'my  choice  was 
prompted  by  curiosity,  of  that  kind  which  expected  to 
find  in  you  a  man  something  out  of  the  common  —  one 
who  had,  no  doubt,  left  early  friends  and  social  relations, 
and  launched  upon  a  troubled  sea  of  doubt,  and,  shall  I 
say  it,  darkness?' 

'Thank  you  for  frankness,  and  in  part  you  estimate 
me  correctly.  I  have  broken  with  early  associations 
and  many  early  friends,  but  though  the  future  is  not 
bright,  it  is  not  one  of  doubt  to  me,  or  even  darkness.  I 
have  passed  that  period  of  my  mental  development  in 
which  doubt  was  a  factor.  I  doubt  no  longer,  but  am  as 
clear  and  positive  in  my  mind  in  regard  to  the  great 
question  of  life — man's  proper  relation  to  nature — as  a 
man  in  his  normal  senses  should  be.' 

'Your  position,  your  contest  against  all  the  churches, 
almost  against  society,  as  it  would  seem  to  a  Christian,  is 
one  which  calls  for  rare  fortitude  and  moral  courage,' 
remarked  Cluney. 

'Yes.  The  soldier  in  the  excitement  of  the  battle 
may  walk  heroically  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth,  and  feel 
that  if  he  dies,  his  country  and  kindred  will  honor  his 
courage  and  bless  his  memory.  But  with  the  devoted 
men  with  whom  I  am  associated,  it  requires  a  different 
and  more  abiding  courage  to  face  the  formidable  array  of 


70  IN  FETTERS: 

entrenched  bigotry,  superstition,  intolerance,  and  honest 
stupidity.  Think  of  it  for  a  moment:  To  oppose  the 
institution  which  your  fathers  loved  in  centuries  gone 
by;  to  sweep  off  the  altars,  forms,  and  usages  that 
ministered  to  your  mother's  piety,  helped  her  bear  the 
bitter  ills  and  cross  of  life,  and  gave  her  winged  tran- 
quility  in  the  hour  of  death;  to  sunder  your  ties  of 
social  sympathy;  destroy  the  rites  associated  with  the 
aspiring  dream  of  childhood,  and  its  earliest  prayer,  and 
the  sunny  days  of  youth — to  disturb  these  because  they 
weave  chains,  invisible  but  despotic,' which  bind  the  arm 
and  fetter  the  foot,  and  confine  the  heart;  to  hew  down 
the  hoary  tree  under  whose  shadow  the  nations  played 
their  game  of  life,  and  found  in  death  the  clod  of  the 
valley  sweet  to  their  weary  bosom, — to  destroy  all  this 
because  it  poisons  the  air  and  stifles  the  breath  of  the 
world, — it  is  a  sad  and  bitter  thing.  It  makes  the  heart 
throb,  and  the  face,  that  is  hard  as  iron  all  over  in  public, 
weeps  in  private,  weak  woman's  tears.  Such  trials  are 
not  for  vulgar  souls ;  they  feel  not  the  riddle  of  the 
world!' 

The  editor  spoke  sadly,  as  if  the  retrospect  of  his  life 
experience  were  passing  in  review  before  him,  and  then 
he  added  —  '  But  the  die  is  cast.  We  have  crossed  the 
river  and  burnt  our  boats  behind  us.  Reason  and 
common  sense  are  our  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  of  fire 
by  night,  and  we  are  heading  for  the  land  of  intellectual 
freedom  and  emancipation  from  the  Egyptian  supersti 
tion  which  still  dominates  the  world.' 

'Do  you  expect  to  accomplish  your  mission  in  your 
lifetime?'  asked  the  schoolmaster. 

'I  am  not  sanguine  of  producing  any  great  revolution 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  71 

in  the  minds  of  church  people  in  my  day,  replied  Mr. 
Seaver,  'but  I  hope  to  see  the  time  when  outspoken 
truth  will  be  heard  even  by  believing  Christians,  and 
when  doubt  will  creep  into  the  church,  and  disbelief  in 
the  shocking  doctrine  of  eternal  punishment  will  so 
assert  itself  as  to  humanize  religion  and  make  men  think 
without  fear  of  damnation.  Men  ought  to  be  moral 
without  the  fear  of  punishment,  or  hope  of  special 
reward.' 

'Your  position  is  not  a  popular  one  with  the  world,  I 
take  it,'  said  Cluney. 

'It  is  not,'  replied  Seaver,  with  a  laugh.  'I  do  not 
know  of  a  single  public  office  that  I  could  be  elected  to 
in  the  city  of  Boston,  if  it  called  for  even  one  hundred 
votes  to  elect.' 

'Do  you  like  the  position  you  occupy?'  asked  Cluney. 

'Yes,  and  no.  It  is  not  agreeable  to  go  through  the 
streets  and  meet  hundreds  of  people  whom  you  know 
would  crucify  you,  if  they  dared.  But  I  can  walk  the 
street  with  the  proud  consciousness  that  I  own  myself, 
and  am  disenthralled  from  the  fetters  of  superstition.' 

'Is  that  a  compensation  for  what  you  have  to 
endure?' 

'Yes;  for  in  the  struggle  I  am  vindicating  the  man 
hood  that  is  in  me.  I  am  as  a  soldier,  enlisted  for  the 
war,  which  with  me  will  be  a  struggle  while  life  con 
tinues.  The  army  of  free  thinkers  is  as  yet  small,  and 
practically  unorganized,  while  that  of  the  churches — 
those  champions  of  mental  as  well  as  corporal  slavery  — 
is  overwhelming;  and  I  may  say  that  I  feel  a  pride  in 
being  one  of  the  leaders  in  it.  We  have  noble  spirits  in 
pur  band,  who  exemplify  in  their  lives  what  men  can  do 


72  IN   FETTEKS: 

and  endure  for  the  sake  of  truth  and  freedom,  and  with 
out  hope  of  future  reward  or  fear  of  future  punishment. 

'You  do  not  then  believe  in  a  hereafter, — in  immor 
tality  of  the  soul?' 

'We  do  not.  Our  reason  convinces  us  that  the  idea 
of  after  existence  and  immortality  is  preposterous  —  a 
relic  of  superstition,  without  a  particle  of  proof,  and  im 
possible  of  demonstration.  With  us  this  is  not  a  thing 
of  doubt,  but  of  conviction.  We  have  got  beyond  the 
line  of  wavering  doubt  and  uncertainty  where  we  think 
we  do  not  know  —  where  our  brain  is  in  a  fog.  We  are 
landed  on  the  rock  of  human  reason  —  that  most  stable 
position  of  intellectual  existence  —  and  thereon  we  have 
constructed  our  temple  of  Common  Sense,  of  which  that 
grand  pioneer  of  American  Liberty,  Thomas  Paine,  is  the 
greatest  modern  apostle,  and  good  old  Abner  Kneeland, 
the  founder  of  the  Investigator,  his  worthy  successor.  I 
may  be  thought  too  sanguine  —  the  world  would  doubt 
less  say  crazy  —  but,  orthodox  and  intolerant  as  Puritan 
Boston  now  is,  I  expect  to  see  a  monument  or  memorial 
raised  to  these  men  in  this  city.  The  apostles  of  liberty 
will  yet  be  estimated  at  their  true  worth.' 

'  The  outlook  for  such  a  consummation  does  not  seem 
particularly  bright  at  present,'  interjected  Tom. 

'  I  can  understand,'  pursued  Cluney,  addressing  Seaver, 
1  that,  in  cutting  adrift  from  all  the  creeds  and  dogmas  of 
Christianity,  there  may  be  a  sense  of  freedom,  an  exhila 
ration  like  that  of  the  schoolboy  bowling  at  skittles,  only 
you  bowl  at  altars  and  pulpits.  In  that  sense  it  might 
be  fun  —  for  the  bowlers.' 

'  You  may  give  it  that  title,  my  friend  ;  but  I  assure 
you  that  with  us  it  is  earnest  fun.  Though,  I  will  admit, 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PEIEST?  73 

there  is  a  feeling  of  peculiar  satisfaction  in  the  work  of 
unmasking  the  hypocrisy  and  inconsistency  of  theological 
religion.  We  have  abundance  of  high  and  hoary  things 
to  aim  at,  and  we  never-  hesitate,  like  the  Irishman  at  a 
fair,  to  hit  a  head  when  we  see  it.' 

'Your  constituency  is  not  large,  I  take  it?' 

'No.  Only  those  who  can  use  their  brains,  and  have 
the  moral  courage  to  listen  and  think — only  such  will 
hear  us.  On  the  other  hand  the  ministers  have  the 
multitude,  whom  they  hold  on  account  of  their  continu 
ous  appeals  to  their  selfishness,  and  to  their  fear.' 

'Do  you  regard  theology  as  of  no  account?'  asked 
Cluney. 

'Theology  is  called  the  science  of  religion,  which  it  is 
not,  and  pretends  to  treat  of  man,  God,  and  the  relation 
between  man  and  God,  with  the  duties  which  grow  out 
of  the  relation.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  theology  is  no 
science  at  all,  but  a  system  of  incoherent  notions,  woven 
together  by  a  scholastic  logic,  and  resting  on  baseless 
assumptions.  It  is  not  studied  as  true  science  is,  with 
no  concern  except  for  the  truth  of  the  conclusion.  Only 
what  is  desired  is  sought  for.  This  Christian  theology  of 
today  has  two  great  idols  —  the  Bible  and  Christ — and 
these  it  worships.  This  theology  relies  on  assumptions, 
not  ultimate  facts,  which  it  has  not,  and  so  comes  to  no 
certain  conclusions.  It  weaves  cobwebs,  not  cloth.  It 
catches  the  flies  of  humanity  in  its  web,  and  its  profes 
sional  spiders,  the  priests  and  ministers,  feed  and  fatten 
on  them.' 

'Do  you  think  theologians — that  is,  the  priests  and 
ministers  —  are  conscious  of  the  untenableness  of  their 
position?'  asked  Cluney,  with  just  a  tinge  of  sarcasm. 


74  IN  FETTERS: 

'As  a  rule,  I  doubt  if  they  are.  They  do  not  take  the 
trouble  to  think  of  the  matter,  or  dare  not  investigate 
it  in  any  but  a  believing  spirit,  so  strong  is  authority 
in  the  minds  of  such  men.  But  I  am  treating  of  the 
thinkers  among  them — the  weavers  of  the  theological 
meshes  in  which  the  human  mind  is  ensnared.  Theo 
logians  have  assumed  their  facts,  and  then  reasoned  as  if 
the  facts  were  established;  but  the  conclusion  was  an 
inference  from  a  baseless  assumption.  Thus  it  accounts 
for  nothing.  "We  only  become  certain  of  the  immor 
tality  of  the  soul  from  the  fact  of  Christ's  resurrection," 
says  theology.  Here  are  two  assumptions ;  first,  the  fact 
of  that  resurrection,  and,  second,  that  it  proves  our 
immortality.  If  we  ask  proof  of  the  first  point,  it  is  not 
in  existence  in  a  rational,  reliable  form ;  of  the  second,  it 
can  not  be  shown.  The  theological  method  is  as  false 
as  the  theory  on  which  it  is  based;  for  it  does  not  prove 
the  facts  historically,  or  verify  its  conclusions  philosophi 
cally.' 

'I  admit  that  it  requires  some  faith  for  the  acceptance 
of  the  fact  of  the  resurrection,'  said  Cluney.  'But  are 
there  not  things  that  transcend  our  knowledge  happen 
ing  all  the  time?' 

'  Yes ;  there  are  many  things,  such  as  the  force  which 
impels  the  planets  in  their  orbits,  systems  in  their  courses, 
and  the  laws  governing  such  vast  movements,  that  we 
probably  never  can  know,  or  can  only  guess  at  in  the 
vaguest  way.  But  there  are  things  which  can  be  inves 
tigated,  and  the  truth  in  regard  to  them  ascertained.  We 
have  applied  our  common  sense  to  the  things  of  life  with 
more  or  less  of  success,  and  make  improvements  in  sci 
ence  and  art  every  year.  We  investigate  and  study  the 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  75 

phenomena  of  nature  to  learn  facts,  and  we  do  gain  them. 
Science,  being  a  collection  and  arrangement  of  ascer 
tained  facts,  will  not  permit  the  acceptance  of  conclusions 
based  on  false  assumptions,  as  theology  would  have  us 
do.' 

'You  reject  the  idea  of  God,  then  —  a  supreme  power?' 
suggested  Cluney. 

'We  reject  the  idea  of  a  personal  God  —  certainly,' 
replied  Seaver.  'But  not  the  idea  of  a  Supreme  Power. 
This,  no  one  having  any  conception  of  the  forces  of 
nature,  and  their  operation,  could  for  a  moment  deny. 
The  Christian,  and  in  fact  every  other,  God,  is  a  being, 
an  entity,  an  organism.  As  such,  he  must  have  a  loca 
tion,  an  environment,  and  can  be  in  one  place  only  at  a 
time,  but  we  are  told  that  he  is  everywhere,  sees  and 
knows  all  things,  not  only  in  the  present  and  past,  but 
things  to  come.  The  absurdity  of  this  is  so  transparent 
to  my  mind  that  I  have  little  patience  with  it.  Now 
what  is  the  popular  idea  of  God?  Most  people  conceive 
God  to  be  a  huge  man  in  shape.  I  do  not  recall  who  it 
was  who  said  it,  but  it  illustrates  my  point.  He  said 
the  avorage  Englishman's  idea  of  God  was  a  big,  majestic 
episcopal  bishop !  Xenophanes,  the  Greek,  shows  how  old 
this  idea  of  god  is,  for  he  says  of  lions,  horses,  and  oxen, 
that  "if  they  had  hands  wherewith  to  grave  images,  they 
would  fashion  gods  after  their  own  shapes  and  make 
them  bodies  like  their  own"  —would  in  fact,  impose 
their  limitations  on  the  Supreme  Power  of  the  universe, 
just  as  man  has  done.' 

'  Do  you  not  believe  in  what  is  called  religion  ?'  asked 
the  persevering  school-master,  who  seemed  bent  on  cate 
chising. 


76  IN   FETTEKS: 

•  The  improved  theology  of  today  says  religion  is  love 
of  God  and  man.  Strike  out  the  word  God,  and  I  accept 
it.  Nay,  1  would  go  farther,  and  say:  Humanity  is  my 
God,  and  to  do  all  I  can  to  help  it  my  religion.  This  is, 
you  may  know,  paraphrasing  Thomas  Paine's  declaration : 
"The  world  is  my  country,  and  to  do  good  my  religion." 
As  to  the  great  formative  energy  of  the  universe,  which 
appears  to  be  self-regulating,  I,  as  a  result  of  one  of  its 
processes,  do  not  see  wherein  my  relation  to  it  can  be  so 
well  expressed  and  carried  out  as  by  dealing  with  and 
helping  my  fellow  creatures.  I  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  this  magnificent  All-power  in  the  future  any  more 
than  in  the  past.  My  existence  to  me  is  everything — to 
the  vast  storehouse  of  energy  out  of  which  it  came, 
scarcely  an  incident  of  more  significance  than  the  breath 
of  a  spring  morning,  or  the  life  of  a  May-fly.  Then  why 
should  I  look  for  immortality — a  life  beyond  this  one? 
I  see  nothing  to  justify  such  an  expectation,  beyond  the 
unreasoning  and  unreasonable  hopes  of  foolish  and  selfish 
people.  People  will  say:  Why  should  we  die  and  be 
ended — so  much  of  goodness,  wisdom,  virtue?  But  why 
should  these  attributes  be  perpetuated  in  the  few,  and 
the  vice,  the  villainy,  the  infernal  devilishness  of  charac 
ter  in  the  many  not  also  be  perpetuated?  The  beauty 
of  the  good  and  the  virtuous  fades  as  the  flowers  of 
summer,  in  its  time.  That  glorious  piece  of  mechanism, 
the  human  form,  becomes  old,  decrepid,  diseased — why 
should  this  be  ?  It  is  the  course  of  nature,  we  say.  Yes, 
and  'tis  the  course  of  nature  to  die  and  be  ended.  Why 
not?  Do  we  know  to  the  contrary?  All  we  can  know 
is  found  on  this  side  of  death,  and  our  reason  tells  us 
death  ends  all,' 


THE    MAN   OR    THE    PRIEST?  77 

'Then  heaven  and  hell  are  myths,  as  well  as  immor 
tality?'  asked  Cluney. 

'Heaven  and  hell,'  replied  Seaver,  'are  said  to  be  up 
and  down,  respectively.  Up  where?  Down  where?  Up 
is  above  the  earth;  down,  in  the  earth.  If  heaven  is 
above,  it  is  in  the  clouds,  or  beyond,  and  hell  in  the  hot 
bowels  of  the  earth.  At  the  equator  our  earth  turns 
around  on  its  axis  at  the  rate  of  one  thousand  miles  an 
hour — that  is  pretty  fast  traveling.  But  it  is  as  nothing 
to  the  orbital  velocity  of  the  earth  itself,  which,  accord 
ing  to  the  best  astronomical  authority,  is  nearly  nineteen 
miles  a  second. 

'  Our  earth  has  still  another  motion  ;  it  follows  the  sun 
in  its  course,  as  the  moon  follows  our's.  This  motion  of 
the  sun,  which  we  share,  is,  I  am  told,  some  20,000  miles 
an  hour;  and  in  how  many  other  ways  our  gyrating 
course  through  space  is  effected  it  would  be  difficult  to 
say;  but  we  are  evidently  describing  a  series  of  circles, 
which  make  our  movements  very  complex  indeed. 

'Here  we  are,  then,  on  a  globe  or  sphere,  eight  thousand 
miles  in  diameter,  which  we  call  the  earth,  swinging  and 
whirling  and  gyrating  though  space  at  a  velocity  twenty 
times  greater  than  that  of  our  swiftest  projectile,  with 
our  up  or  heavenward  direction  changing  at  the  rate  of 
a  mile  in  about  every  four  seconds,  and  yet  we  point,  up 
and  up  to  space  beyond  as  our  heaven !  Well,  the  thing 
is  no  more  preposterous  than  the  idea  of  heaven  itself, 
with  immortality  of  what  is  called  the  soul  included.  We 
Infidels  claim  to  have  the  brains  to  see  this  condition  of 
things  and  the  courage  to  accept  its  consequences.' 

'It  is  curious  and  strange,'  said  Cluney,  reflectively. 
'Here  you  are,  with  apparently  all  the  spirit  that  would 


78  IN   FETTERS! 

do  and  suffer,  attacking  established  religion — tearing  its 
most  sacred  traditions  to  shreds — to  establish  and  per 
petuate  which  thousands  have  willingly  suffered  martyr 
dom,  and  for  which  thousands  are  still  ready  to  offer 
their  lives!  Is  it  not  strange  indeed?' 

'  They  were  noble  fellows,  those  martyrs,  for  they  were 
no  doubt  honest  and  sincere  in  their  belief,  and  of  course 
that  same  heroic  spirit  still  survives.  I  could  honor 
their  courage,  but  not  their  hallucination.  I  could 
commend  their  fortitude,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  condemn  the  colossal  lie  which  they  believe 
in.  I  pity  the  mistaken  immolation  of  the  worshippers 
of  Hindoo  Juggernauth,  who  prostrate  themselves  before 
the  wheels  of  that  car  of  Vishnu,  and  achieve  what  they 
believe  to  be  a  glorious  death  and  immortality ;  but  this 
would  all  the  more  make  me  denounce  the  monstrous 
thing  which  they  believe  in  too  faithfully  and  to  their 
destruction.' 

After  some  further  conversation,  in  which  Tom  bore  a 
part,  the  friends  took  their  leave  of  Mr.  Seaver,  with 
thanks  for  his  courtesy. 

On  the  way  homeward,  Tom  asked  Cluney: 

'How  were  you  impressed  with  my  friend  Seaver?' 

'  In  some  respects  I  should  call  him  a  remarkable  man, 
but  I  think  he  has  chosen  a  peculiar  calling  to  make  a 
living  by.' 

'What  do  you  mean  by  that  remark?'  asked  Tom. 

'  Simply  this.  While  you  may  regard  him  as  a  kind 
of  apostle  of  free  thought,  I  am  not  at  all  sure  but  he  is 
what  he  is,  partly  from  a  naturally  combative  disposition 
and  in  part  to  make  a  living.  In  other  words,  I  regard 
him  as  a  "professional  Infidel."  He  is  able,  bright,  and 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PKIEST?  79 

no  doubt  as  sincere  as  a  soldier  of  fortune  would  be  who 
would  tight  in  any  cause — the  first  that  presented.' 

'But  his  present  position  is  one  of  choice,  as  I  under 
stand,'  said  Tom,  'and  not  because  of  lack  of  opportunity 
for  remunerative  employment  in  other  lines  of  effort.' 

'Tom,'  said  Cluney,  stopping  suddenly,  and  facing  his 
companion,  'why  don't  you  become  a  professional  Infidel? 
You  seem  to  be  in  full  sympathy  with  these  people.' 

'I  have  several  reasons,'  was  the  reply,  'most  of  which 
I  need  not  tell  you;  they  are  selfish  ones.  But  my  main 
reason  is  that  I  so  love  to  be  my  own  master,  to  own 
myself,  to  keep  my  individuality  intact,  that  I  would  join 
no  organization  where  my  actions  would  be  governed  or 
hampered  by  others,  or  identify  myself  with  a  movement 
that  I  did  not  wholly  believe  in.' 

'Then  you  do  not  subscribe  to  the  doctrine  of  Infi 
delity?' 

'I  subscribe  to  no  doctrine  but  my  own,  and  that  is  all 
the  time  changing  in  its  details,'  said  Tom,  laughing. 
'But  I  am  willing  to  give  a  helping  hand  to  all  whom  I 
believe  to  be  honestly  contending  for  the  truth.  I  want 
to  be  a  "free  lance.'" 

'Truth!'  said  Cluney  reflectively.  'That  is  a  much 
misunderstood  word,  or  the  majority  of  people  are  fools. 
It  would  seem  to  be  simple  enough  in  itself,  but  when  we 
see  people  contending  about  it — not  that  one  should  get 
it  from  the  other,  as  in  the  contention  of  dogs  over  a 
bone,  but  that  one  should  compel  the  other  to  accept  his 
version  of  it — that  is  strange  indeed!  Do  you  think 
there  is  only  one  kind  of  truth  in  the  world,  or  that  it 
can  be  found  only  in  certain  places,  like  piety?  Truth, 
with  men  generally,  has  as  many  complexions  as  their 


80  IN  FETTERS: 

minds  have,  and  is  crude,  half-devoloped,  or  compara 
tively  rational  according  as  their  conception  of  it  is 
developed.' 

'That  may  be  so,'  replied  Tom,  'but  what  I  mean  is, 
that  where  I  find  a  vast  system  of  what  is  called  religion, 
founded  on  manifest  ignorance  of  natural  laws,  the  truth 
with  regard  to  which  laws  we  know  enough  of  to  con 
trovert  their  assumptions  of  infallibility  and  immortality, 
and  I  find  men  with  the  courage  to  deny  these  assump 
tions  and  speak  the  truth  regarding  them,  I  feel  like 
giving  them  aid  and  comfort.  I  think  it  is  my  duty  as  a 
man  to  do  it.'a 

'How  are  you  going  to  do  it,  Tom?  You  cannot  con 
vince  people,  by  argument,  who  will  not  listen  to  you.' 

'  I  know  it,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  would  not 
become  a  professional  Infidel,  as  you  term  it.  As  such, 
I  would  not  be  listened  to.  As  a  simple  individual,  I 
can  do  more  good  for  humanity.  I  am  well  aware  of 
the  fact  that  the  church  has  control  of  the  people,  and 
the  moulding  of  them  from  the  cradle  onward.  It  works 
not  only  through  its  ministers,  but  more  potently 
through  the  believing  mothers.  Indeed,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  with  mothers  the  controlling  influence  exists  before 
the  birth  of  their  offspring,  and  when  they  are  in  a  con 
dition  of  the  most  peculiar  susceptibility  to  all  abnormal 
impressions  and  influences.  Then,  after  birth,  when  the 
child  begins  to  learn  and  understand,  the  mother  gives 
him  his  first  lessons  in  superstition,  fully  believing  that 
she  is  doing  him  a  grand  service ;  telling  him,  for  example 
that  "the  fear  of  the  Lord  is  beginning  of  all  wisdom." 
Why  fear?  Why  not  love?  Well,  because  God  is  sup 
posed  to  be  grand  and  terrible ;  and  is  clothed  in  the 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  81 

thunder  of  the  elements,  with  forked  lightning  in  his 
hands  and  a  frown  on  his  face,  ready  to  blast  and  to 
destroy  all  who  do  not  practice  the  most  abject  form  of 
submission  and  supplication  towards  him, — the  real  sub 
mission  being  practically  to  priestcraft. 

'From  the  cradle  to  the  grave  the  church  takes  control 
of  the  man ;  and  even  beyond  the  grave  it  claims  to  in 
fluence  his  fate  —  an  absurd  and  wicked  pretension !  Do 
you  imagine  that  I  do  not  appreciate  the  bonds  and 
fetters  which  the  church  has  woven  around  the  lives  of 
men — bonds  for  the  restraint  of  free  inquiry;  fetters  for 
their  minds?  A  man  may  burst  the  manacles  of  steel 
which  the  law  puts  on  him,  if  he  has  the  physical 
strength  to  do  it,  but  the  manacles  of  the  church  can  not 
be  broken  except  by  the  strength  of  will  which  few  men 
possess.  There  is  an  awful  penalty  attached  by  the  Catho 
lic  church  to  unbelief,  and  most  men  are  fearful  of  it.' 

'Then,'  said  Cluney,  'why  resist  so  potent  an  influ 
ence?  The  Catholic  church  is  the  repository  of  all  the 
ethical  religion  to  be  found  in  all  the  dissenting  creeds, 
with  excellent  practices  which  they  have  not  —  usages 
which  tone  the  moral  system  and  keep  men  up  to  a  point 
of  high  moral  conduct,  if  their  nature  is  capable  of  it.  It 
will  condone  transgression  only  on  the  true  repentance 
of  the  transgressor.  It  will  not,  like  many  Protestant 
churches,  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  the  repentant 
sinner.  At  the  same  time,  you  may  understand,  the 
Catholic  church  is  more  tolerant  than  any  other.  You 
may  think  as  you  please,  and  doubt  as  much  as  you  will, 
if  you  do  not  seek  to  openly  propagate  your  views  and 
oppose  the  teachings  of  the  church,  you  can  still  remain 
in  the  fold,  and  settle  with  the  Great  Reckoner.  I  may 


82  IN  FETTERS: 

confess  to  you  that  I  am,  in  my  own  person,  an  example 
of  this.  I  think  quite  as  freely  now  as  you  do,  and  there 
was  a  time  when  I  thought  as  strongly.  But  time  has 
sobered  me,  and,  seeing  the  futility  of  making  a  struggle, 
I  have  accepted  the  situation ;  and  my  pathway  is  smooth 
and  peaceful.' 

'1  could  not  do  that,'  said  Tom.  'It  would  be  against 
my  nature.  I  could  not  be  one  thing  and  seem  to  be 
another.  I  must  be  free,  and  I  will  be,  the  church  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding.' 

4  Believe  me,  Tom,  the  church  can  get  along  without 
you,  and  will  not  interfere  with  your  humor  in  the  matter. 
But  can  you  get  along  without  the  social  amenities  of 
religion  ?  You  will  find  it  a  difficult  thing  to  do.' 

'  Well,'  said  Tom,  '  I  will  make  the  trial.' 

'I  have  no  doubt  of  it,'  rejoined  Cluney,  and  the 
friends  proceeded  homeward. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   NEW   ARRIVAL RICHARD    GASTON    GOES    TO    ROME. 

It  is  possible  that  the  reader  may  desire  more  of  inci 
dent  and  less  of  opinion,  and,  presuming  that  to  be  the 
case,  we  will  gloss  over  the  things  heard  by  Tom  Gaston 
and  his  guest  at  the  Sunday  services  which  they  at 
tended  on  the  day  succeeding  the  events  recorded  in  the 
last  chapter. 

In  the  forenoon  they  heard  Theodore  Parker,  in  the 
lower  hall  of  Music  Hall  —  the  Melodeon.  His  theme 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PEIEST?  83 

was  human  slavery,  the  great  national  sin  of  America. 
His  denunciation  of  slavery  was  grand,  earnest,  and  even 
fierce;  and  the  applause  that  frequently  greeted  his  utter 
ances  was  a  thing  so  strange  and  so  unexpected  to 
Cluney  that  he  turned  to  his  friend  and  remarked: 

'  Tom,  do  they  applaud  him  when  he  prays  ? ' 

' Yes,'  replied  Tom,  'when  he  makes  a  good  hit.' 

'At  what?' 

'At  anything  —  the  devil,  or  the  Catholic  church,  for 
example,'  returned  Tom,  with  a  chuckle. 

At  the  close  of  the  sermon,  and  on  the  way  to  dinner, 
Cluney  remarked: 

'Your  Theodore  Parker  is  a  wonderfully  effective 
speaker,  with  all  the  art  of  an  orator,  to  which  he  adds 
an  intense  earnestness  and  feeling.  He  is  a  born  leader, 
but  his  head  is  too  large  and  vigorous  for  his  body,  and 
will  wear  it  out.  His  denunciation  of  slavery  was  one 
of  the  grandest  I  have  ever  heard.  It  was  a  noble  pro 
test  against  an  execrable  institution  —  a  strong  and  manly 
denunciation  of  a  thing  that  is  a  most  glaring  and 
shameful  anomaly  in  a  country  that  has  for  its  central 
principle  of  government  human  freedom.' 

In  the  evening  the  friends  visited  Father  Taylor's 
Bethel,  in  North  square.  The  attendance  was  not  large, 
and  the  venerable  and  eccentric  minister  was  not  in  the 
best  of  humor,  perhaps  for  that  reason.  His  talk  was,  of 
course,  mainly  directed  to  seamen,  to  warn  them  of  the 
dangers  from  'land  sharks'  and  loose  women,  and  also 
showing  them  that  the  only  safe  harbor  of  refuge  was 
with  Jesus.  He  was  a  man  of  medium  size,  somewhat 
fleshy,  with  a  strong,  earnest  face,  and  long  white  hair. 
His  speech  was  bluff  even  to  affectation,  but  vigorous 


84  IN   FETTEKS: 

and  full  of  homely  aphorisms  appropriate  to  his  purpose. 

An  incident  occurred  which  amused  the  friends  great 
ly.  One  of  those  well-meaning  but  sententious  men  —  a 
merchant  of  the  West  End  of  the  city  —  who  thought  he 
felt  an  interest  in  the  seamen,  rose  in  response  to  an  in 
vitation  to  the  hearers  from  Father  Taylor,  after  his  dis 
course,  to  testify  in  behalf  of  good  works,  and  proceeded 
to  tell  how  much  the  merchants  had  done  for  the  sailors, 
and  how  thankful  the  latter  should  be  for  what  was  done 
in  their  behalf. 

Father  Taylor  listened  to  this  man  with  evident  impa 
tience,  and  finally  said:  'Belay,  there,  brother;  you  have 
let  out  enough  of  that  slack.'  Then,  when  the  merchant 
sat  down,  he  called  out:  'Is  there  any  other  old  sinner 
present  who  desires  to  say  anything?'  The  effect  of 
the  rebuke  was  electrical,  and  brought  smiles  to  the 
faces  of  all  present,  save  that  of  the  speaker  who  called 
it  down. 

'  Well,'said  Cluney,  as  the  friends  wended  their  way 
through  carousing  Ann  street,  homeward :  '  Father  Tay 
lor  is  a  character  indeed.  He  is  one  of  those  earnest, 
sincere  men  who  despise  hypocrisy,  and  no  doubt  accom 
plishes  a  vast  amount  of  good  in  his  way.  He  is  a  fine 
rugged  character,  and  under  different  conditions  might 
become  a  despot  or  revolutionist,  an  anchorite  or  a  man 
of  the  world.' 

'  He  is  a  good,  honest  man,  no  doubt,'  replied  Tom ; 
'but  it  tires  me  to  listen  to  this  old  song  of  'come  to 
Jesus,'  instead  of  appealing  to  the  manly  principle  in 
human  nature  —  the  pride  rather  than  the  fear;  but  of 
course  this  is  the  stock  in  trade  of  exhorters.' 

On  the  day  following,  that  is,  Monday,  Tom  received 


85 

a  letter  from  his  brother  in  Montreal.  Richard  was 
on  the  eve  of  starting  for  Rome,  and  on  the  way  would 
call  on  his  dear  brother  in  Boston. 

'This  is  news,  indeed,'  said  Tom  to  Cluney,  'and  good 
news.  We  should  have  Dick  here  now  at  any  time,  per 
haps  today,  for  this  letter  was  evidently  received  here 
on  Saturday,  and  not  delivered  till  to  'day.  The  fact  is, 
I  forgot  to  call  on  Saturday  for  my  mail.' 

And,  sure  enough,  that  very  afternoon  Richard  arrived 
in  Boston,  and  at  once  repaired  to  his  brother's  boarding 
place.  He  had  changed  somewhat  during  his  sojourn  in 
college,  was  paler,  and  had  taken  on  the  indescribable 
habit  of  countenance  peculiar  to  the  theological  student. 
With  a  full-fledged  cleric  —  priest  or  minister — the  term 
sanctimonious  expresses  it,  but  with  the  novice  it  is  less 
pronounced.  Whether  it  be  a  reflection  of  the  inward 
mind,  or  whether,  chameleon-like,  it  is  the  result  of  an 
imitation  growing  out  of  association,  it  is  hard  to  say ; 
but  whatever  its  cause,  it  is  pronounced  and  distinctive, 
and  easily  recognized  by  men  of  experience,  especially 
those  who  have  traveled  in  Catholic  countries. 

The  meeting  between  the  brothers  was  very  warm  and 
affectionate,  and  Master  Cluney  beheld  it  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  somewhat  the  feeling  of  a  father  in  his 
heart,  for  both  had  been  pupils  of  his,  and  he  knew  them 
to  be  bright,  honest  boys,  though  curiously  different  in 
many  respects,  mentally  as  well  as  physically. 

The  reader  has  all  along  been  compelled  to  picture  to 
himself  one  of  the  most  interesting  characters  of  this 
narrative,  Thomas  Gaston.  I  think  it  not  a  bad  idea, 
however,  to  give  the  reader  an  opportunity  to  imagine  the 
kind  of  man  a  character  is  by  the  way  he  talks  and  acts. 


86  IN  FETTERS: 

In  the  present  case,  it  would  perhaps  be  more  striking  to 
describe  him  by  contrast,  for  the  reason  that  in  the  two 
brothers  were  strongly  exemplified  two  distinctive  types 
of  the  races  of  Europe  —  northern  and  southern — which, 
one  would  suppose,  should  have  been  blended  in  them. 

While  there  was  a  resemblance  between  the  brothers, 
when  seen  together,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  in  what 
it  consisted.  Richard  was  tall,  large-boned,  with  light- 
blue  eyes,  light  brown  hair,  and  stright  nose,  with  wide 
nostrils  —  an  almost  typical  Saxon  in  appearance,  such 
as  is  often  found  among  the  Irish  people,  indicating  the 
mixture  of  races  in  Ireland  similar  to  that  found  in  Great 
Britain.  Richard  had  regular  features,  fair  skin,  a  round 
face,  and  was  really  a  handsome  fellow. 

Thomas  was  of  medium  height  and  build,  with  a  well- 
knit  frame,  whose  every  movement  indicated  a  vigor  that 
seemed  to  be  constantly  held  in  check.  His  forehead 
was  high  and  broad,  with  dark-shaded  brows,  hanging 
like  beetling  cliffs  of  observation  well  out  above  his  eyes, 
which  were  full  and  of  a  changing  black  —  eyes  that,  on 
occasion,  would  glow  like  opals  or  darken  into  fiery  jets; 
an  aquiline  nose,  finely  shaped,  with  flaring  nostrils;  a 
firm,  well-shaped  mouth,  strong  chin,  and  jaws  indicating 
a  persistent  and  unyielding  disposition.  His  hair  was 
black  and  inclined  to  curl,  and  his  complexion  was  a 
clear  olive.  He  was  French,  with  an  English  expres 
sion  of  solidity  and  earnestness ;  with  the  fiery  courage  of 
the  one,  backed  by  the  cool  determination  of  the  other. 

While  there  were  characteristics  apparent  in  both 
brothers  that  would  command  attention,  they  were  of  a 
nature  peculiar  to  each.  Richard  had  not  the  strong 
facial  characteristics  of  his  brother,  and,  though  evidently 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PKIEST?  87 

not  lacking  in  firmness,  was  yet  of  that  easy,  good-natured 
disposition  that  could  be  changed  in  purpose,  —  that 
would  not  as  steadily  pursue  a  purpose  as  his  brother. 
Thomas,  on  the  other  hand,  gave  the  impression  that  he 
was  a  man  great  of  firmness  and  decision  of  character, 
and  of  unbending  will  and  purpose.  His  eyes  were 
searching  and  speculative,  and  strongly  indicated  that  he 
was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with.  Richard  had  a  mild 
and  pleasant  expression  of  eye,  and  appeared  to  be  one 
of  those  men  from  whom  only  kindness  and  good  nature 
was  to  be  expected. 

In  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  however,  the  brothers 
seemed  transfigured  in  so  far  that  each  appeared  to  be  a 
composite  of  both,  in  the  light  and  sparkle  of  the  eye, 
and  the  gentle  glow  of  brotherly  affection  which  spread 
over  the  faces  of  both,  harmonizing  and  blending  their 
peculiar  characteristics.  It  was  a  case  where  the  gentler 
and  more  stern  attributes  of  manhood,  under  the  warmth 
of  consanguinal  affection,  were  melted  into  homogeneous 
identity. 

'  And  now,  Dick,'  said  Thomas,  '  tell  us  what  favoring 
turn  in  the  wheel  of  good  luck  has  caused  you  to  fold 
your  tent  on  the  banks  of  the  majestic  St.  Lawrence  and 
come  to  Boston  just  at  the  time  when  my  Mentor  —  our 
mutual  friend,  our  good  Master  Cluney  — was  on  a  visit 
of  exploration  among  the  caves  of  piety  and  dens  of  un 
belief  which  abound  in  this  wicked  Yankee  metropolis?' 

'I'll  tell  you,  in  a  few  words,'  replied  Richard.  'I  had 
heard  of  the  eclat,  the  distinction,  it  gave  to  a  priest  in 
Canada  to  have  been  ordained  at  Rome,  and,  as  I  did  not 
intend  to  become  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and 
desired  to  visit  Europe,  and  especially  the  holy  city  of 


88  IN  FETTERS: 

Rome,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  take  this  course,  and  here 
I  am  in  pursuance  of  it.' 

'Will  you  go  home  before  crossing  the  water?'  asked 
Cluney. 

'No,'  replied  Richard.  'For  obvious  reasons,  it  would 
be  best  not  to  go  there  now,  though  I  should  like  to  see 
my  dear  mother  and  father.  Tom,  you  ought  to  go 
down  and  see  them.' 

'  I  shall,'  said  Tom,  '  after  I  obtain  my  degree.  In  a 
year  from  now  I  hope  to  go  there,  and  spend  a  week  or 
two  amid  the  old  familiar  scenes.  But,  Dick,  my  dear 
boy,  are  you  still  determined  to  be  a  priest?  Can't  you 
go  to  Europe  and  see  all  you  want  to,  and  return  and  do 
something  else?  You  are  an  expert  accountant,  and 
could  easily  get  a  good  position  in  some  counting  room 
in  Boston.' 

'It  cannot  be.  I  could  not  endure  the  disappointment 
it  would  be  to  mother ;  and,  then,  think  of  the  talk  it 
would  make  if  I  returned  home  a  layman  instead  of  a 
priest.  Then—  But,  what's  the  use  of  talking?  The 
die  is  cast — I  must  go,  even  if  I  did  have  some  mis 
giving  about  the  matter.' 

'How  long  before  you  leave?'  asked  Cluney,  with  the 
purpose  of  diverting  the  direction  of  the  conversation, 
which  seemed  to  pain  Richard. 

'  I  understand  the  steamer  leaves  on  Wednesday  next 
—  day  after  tomorrow-— and  as  I  have  some  purchases 
to  make,  many  letters  to  write,  and  a  good  deal  to  see 
in  Boston,  as  well  as  much  to  talk  of  with  both  of  you, 
about  home  and  personal  matters,  I  do  not  think  I  will 
have  much  idle  time  on  hand.  I  have  a  letter  to  Bishop 
Fitzpatrick,  and  will  call  on  him  tomorrow,  and  I  have 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  89 

several  commissions  for  the  students  of  the  college  at 
Montreal  to  execute.  I  expect  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  the  Bishop  that  will  aid  me  at  Rome.' 

'  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  aid  you  in  your  business,'  said 
Tom,  '  but  in  regard  to  the  visit  to  the  Bishop '  — • 

'In  regard  to  that,'  interrupted  Cluney,  'you  will  of 
course  be  too  busy,  and  as  I  will  have  ample  leisure,  I  can 
devote  it  to  going  around  with  your  brother,  so  you  need 
not  trouble  about  that.' 

Cluney  then  briefly  explained  what  Tom  was  engaged 
in,  and  the  necessity  of  his  being  on  hand  at  the  news 
paper  office  every  day  to  do  the  work  allotted  to  him. 
Several  times  during  this  first  meeting  of  the  brothers 
the  conversation  led  to  the  subject  of  religion,  when 
Cluney,  in  a  diplomatic  way,  contrived  to  avert  an  issue 
between  them  on  this  matter,  and  when  the  first  oppor 
tunity  occurred,  Richard  being  absent  for  a  few  minutes, 
Cluney  said  to  his  brother : 

'  Tom,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  bring  up  religious  matters 
for  discussion  with  Richard.  It  will  only  lead  to  contro 
versy,  and  such  things  are  not  productive  of  good.  You 
cannot  influence  him  in  regard  to  the  profession  he  has 
chosen,  and  a  disagreement  between  you  at  this  time  on 
a  matter  so  vital  to  him  might  have  consequences  that 
would  give  your  brother  pain  and  would  leave  you  only 
regret.' 

'I  thank  you,  my  dear  Cluney,  for  this  kind  advice,  and 
will  follow  it,  though  I  shall  dislike  more  than  ever  the 
church  that  separates  my  only  brother  from  me,  for  I  feel 
that  we  can  never  come  together  again  with  that  old 
time  cordiality  that  we  could  if  he  had  not  become  a 
priest.' 


90  IN  FETTERS: 

'  And  why  not  ?  asked  Cluney.  '  He  will  still  be 
your  brother,  and  will  still  love  you  as  a  brother.  He  is 
of  an  affectionate  nature,  and  in  the  office  he  is  going 
to  assume,  with  the  peculiar  work  it  calls  for,  he  will 
be  all  the  better,  and  can  bear  his  cross  all  the  more 
bravely,  if  he  can  feel  that  he  has  the  affection  of  blood 
and  kindred  to  sustain  him  in  his  relation  to  the  world.' 

'I  shall  never  cease  to  love  him,  even  if  he  becomes 
one  of  that  class  who  regard  all  men  as  sinners  and  all 
in  need  of  "saving  grace,"  especially  one  like  myself, 
who  will  be  cut  off  from  the  church  by  censure  for 
daring  to  think  for  myself  and  express  my  views.  But 
will  he,  under  the  circumstances,  love  me  —  the  outcast  ? 
That  is  what  troubles  me,'  said  Tom. 

'  I  stake  my  life  that  he  will,'  said  Cluney.  '  He  has 
too  much  of  the  genuine  good  nature  and  affection  of  his 
mother  to  ever  go  back  on  you,  even  if  you  have  gone 
back  on  the  church  of  which  he  is  a  priest.  No  —  I 
would  sooner  count  on  his  forbearance  in  such  a  position 
than  on  yours,  if  you  were  in  his  place,  Tom.' 

« Would  you? '  asked  Tom,  laughing.     '  Why?' 

'Tom,'  said  Cluney,  'with  your  positive  nature,  you 
would  be  inclined  to  intolerance ;  Richard,  on  the  con 
trary,  would  be  inclined  to  forbearance.  If  you  were  a 
sincerely-believing  priest  —  and  I  know  you  would  never 
be  one  if  you  were  not  sincere  —  you  would  illustrate 
Butler's  distich  in  his  Hudibras  : 

"  The  pulpit-drum  ecclesiastic, 
Was  beat  with  fist  instead  of  a  stick." 

'You  would  be  inclined  to  polemics,  while  Richard 
would  take  to  works  of  benevolence  and  charity. 

'  I  guess  you  are  about  right,'  said  Tom.     '  Poor  Dick 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PKIEST?  91 

I  feel  sorry  for  him,  and  it  makes  me  mad  when  I  think 
of  the  peculiar  fate  which  has  driven  him  to  this  alterna 
tive,  him  who  would  have  made  such  a  model  family 
man,  while  I,  who  care  not  a  fig  for  women  or  domestic 
life,  have  nothing  to  thwart  me,  and  drive  me  from  the 
course  I  would  pursue.  Well,  it  is  a  queer  world,  and  I 
suspect,  we  are  all  parts  of  a  vast  mass  of  contrarieties.' 

The  evening  was  pleasantly  spent  in  Thomas  Gaston's 
room,  Cluney  being  present.  The  brothers  talked  of 
their  earlier  days,  their  parents,  home  and  friends.  Tom 
did  not  venture  to  touch  on  Richard's  love  affair,  or 
speak  of  the  Wardens,  except  casually.  He  did  ask, 
however,  if  Richard  would,  when  ordained,  settle  in  the 
home  Province,  or  come  to  the  States. 

'  That  is  a  matter,'  said  Richard,  '  which  I  have  not 
yet  decided.  My  preference  would  be  to  return  to  my 
native  place  and  take  up  my  life  work  among  the  people 
there  —  I  know  them  and  many  of  their  peculiarites,  and 
think  I  would  like  them  better  than  the  Yankees  to  live 
amongst.' 

'Probably  you  would,'  remarked  Tom,  'but  my  choice 
would  be  with  the  Yankees,  who  are  a  wide-awake  people 
and  fairly  civilized.  Will  you  go  directly  home  after 
ordination  ?' 

'  I  cannot  say,'  replied  Richard.  '  My  purpose  is,  how 
ever,  to  visit  some  of  the  countries  of  Europe,  which  I 
will  be  enabled  to  do  to  some  satisfaction,  for  I  have 
become  somewhat  proficient  in  the  French  language  — 
not  the  patois  of  the  Provinces,  but  the  tongue  of  modern 
France.  A  knowledge  of  this  language  will  enable  a 
person  to  travel  anywhere  on  the  Continent  of  Europe, 
without  having  to  carry  an  interpreter  with  him.' 


92  IN  FETTERS: 

« I  would  like  to  be  a  companion  for  you,'  said  Tom. 
'  We  could  take  a  Bohemian  tramp  through  Bohemia.' 

'  And  I  would  like  to  form  the  third  one  of  a  party  of 
which  you  two  would  be  the  parties  of  the  other  part,' 
said  Cluney. 

'A  good  Mentor  you  would  be,  I  am  sure,'  said 
Richard,  '  and  1  would  like  to  go  with  you  and  Tom,  in 
a  most  unconventional  way,  but  not  like  Goldsmith,  when 
he  gathered  materials  for  his  "  Traveller."  We  could 
have  a  famous  good  time  going  through  Italy,  Spain  and 
France,  tracing  the  course  of  empire  westward,  from  the 
old  Roman  civilization.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Tom,  '  it  would  be  rare  pastime  to  travel 
over  the  ground  which  the  nations  of  Europe  have  culti 
vated,  fought  over,  conquered  from  one  another,  and 
where  death  has  conquered  them  —  that  is,  all  the  old 
ones.  What  a  study  the  ruins  of  vast  amphitheatres, 
like  the  Coliseum  at  Rome,  where  the  half  savage  consuls 
and  emperors  sat  and  made  men  kill  one  another  for 
their  amusement ;  the  ruins  of  the  great  castles  where 
feudal  chiefs  of  old  levied  tribute  like  true  highwaymen 
on  all  who  passed  over  their  domains ;  and  the  remains 
of  churches  and  cathedrals,  mossy  and  ivy-grown ;  what 
a  study  these  skeleton  remains  of  an  old  civilization,  a 
condition  of  society  which  has  passed  away  very  largely, 
would  be.  I  often,  in  dreams,  find  myself  amid  such 
ruins,  viewing  them  and  philosophizing  in  regard  to 
them.  It  always  seems  a  fixed  reality,  and  what  is  also 
strange,  I  seem  to  view  all  such  things  in  a  moonlit 
atmosphere.' 

'Perhaps,'  remarked  Cluney,  'Scott's  description  of 
Melrose  Abbey,  in  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  may 


THE    MAN    OK   THE    PRIEST?  93 

have   influenced  your  mind  to  wander  by  moonlight,  in 
dreams.     You,  of  course,  remember  how  it  begins  ? ' 
"If  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight." ' 

'  That  may  be  so,'  returned  Tom,  '  though,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  recall  the  circumstance  that  all  incidents  of  my 
dreams  occur  in  a  mellow  kind  of  moonlight,  as  if  a  haze 
were  in  the  atmosphere.' 

'  I  can  recognize  the  same  peculiarity  in  my  dreams,' 
remarked  Richard. 

'And  I  acknowledge  to  the  same  experience.  It  is 
curious  that  I  never  noted  it  before,'  said  Cluney. 

'  It  appears  to  be  a  clear  case  of  lunacy  all  around,' 
said  Tom.  '  But  to  return  to  Dick's  purposes  for  the 
future :  When  do  you  aim  to  retum  to  America,  Dick  ? ' 

'  I  hope  to  be  able  to  return  some  time  in  May  or  June 
next,'  was  the  reply. 

'Well,  if  all  things  are  propitious,  I  will  go  down 
home  about  the  middle  of  July,  next  year.  I  do  not 
expect  to  secure  anything  like  a  regular  practice  in  my 
profession  as  early  as  that,  though  I  shall  have  my  sign 
out  this  coming  winter.  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  down  at 
the  time  when  you  have  returned  home  as  a  dignitary  of 
the  church  —  a  priest.' 

'  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  have  you  come  home 
while  I  am  there.  I  know  that  both  mother  and  father 
would  be  delighted  to  have  both  of  us  at  home  together, 
even  if  you  could  not  stay  permanently.' 

'And  I  should  be  delighted  to  see  you  both  there,' 
said  Cluney.  '  It  would  be  a  delight  all  around.' 

The  following  day  Cluney  accompanied  Richard  on  his 
visit  to  the  Bishop,  and  to  fill  the  business  errands 


94  IK  FETTERS: 

intrusted  to  him.  Tom  was  busy  at  the  office.  During 
their  companionship,  Richard  inquired  in  regard  to  his 
brother's  religious  views,  and  Cluney  told  him  frankly 
the  state  of  Tom's  mind. 

*  It  is  a  painful  thing  for  me  to  know,'  said  Richard. 

'  Yes,'  replied  Cluney,  '  but  you  can  do  nothing  to 
help  it.  Tom  is  just  as  honest  and  sincere  in  his  con 
victions  as  you  are,  and  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  wait 
and  trust  to  time,  and  his  own  good  sense.' 

'Do  you  think  he  is  likely  to  embrace  Protestantism?' 
asked  Richard. 

'Dick,'  said  Cluney,  'there  appears  to  be  no  middle 
course  for  an  honest  Catholic  doubter  between  Catholi 
cism  and  Infidelity.  Many  stop  off  at  the  half-way  house 
of  Protestantism — why,  I  could  never  see.  After  a 
taste  of  our  church  and  its  rituals ;  its  sculpture,  painting 
and  architecture,  and  its  poetry  and  music;  and  the  mind 
is  not  thoroughly  weaned  from  religion ;  Protestantism 
furnishes  but  a  sorry  substitute;  and,  when  weaned,  it 
cares  for  neither.  Say  nothing  to  him  about  religion,  at 
least  at  present.' 

*  I  will   not,'  said  Richard,  '  but   I   shall  pray   for   a 
change   of   heart  for  him.     But  no    matter   what   may 
come,  I  will  never  turn  against  him.' 

'  That  is  right.  No  matter  how  your  opinions  and 
tastes  may  differ,  never  forget  the  ties  of  blood.  They 
are  sacred.' 

The  evening  was  spent  at  the  theatre,  the  brothers 
and  their  friend  enjoying  themselves  greatly. 

The  hour  of  departure  came  on  the  f olowing  afternoon, 
Tom  and  Cluney  going  over  to  East  Boston  to  see 
Richard  on  board  the  steamer  and  wish  him  safe  voyage. 


THE   MAN   OR  THE    PRIEST?  95 

The  parting  between  the  brothers  was  most  affecting, 
both  shedding  tears,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  while  the 
steamer  was  in  sight  the  eyes  of  neither  one  were  free 
from  the  moisture  of  affection. 

'Well,'  remarked  Cluney,  'Dick  has  chosen  his  life 
vocation.  I  am  not  sure,  had  I  been  consulted,  that  I 
should  have  selected  him  for  a  priest.  He  is  good  and 
gentle,  honest  and  sincere,  but  I  doubt  if  he  likes  the 
profession  he  has  chosen.  And  I  may  say  I  do  not 
think  any  man  who  has  been  disappointed  in  love  affairs 
should  assume  holy  orders.  The  church  may  do  well  as 
a  refuge  for  a  disappointed  man  well  along  in  years. 
But  —  well,  let  us  hope  for  the  best.' 

'  Perhaps  it  is  as  well,'  replied  Tom,  who  appeared 
more  than  usually  thoughtful,  and  the  friends  returned 
to  Boston,  and  prepared  to  resume  the  amusements  —  if 
such  they  may  be  called  —  which  were  interrupted  by 
the  advent  of  Richard. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CHEBUCTO     HAPPENINGS RECONCILIATION      OF     WARDEN 

AND    GASTON RICHARD    TO    BE    RECALLED. 

The  Warden  family  assembled,  as  usual,  on  an  August 
evening,  around  the  tea  table.  It  was  of  a  Wednesday 
evening,  and,  by  an  odd  coincidence,  was  the  identical 
one  on  which  Richard  Gaston  sailed  from  Boston. 

Mrs.  Warden  was  a  comely  matron,  about  forty-five 
years  of  age,  with  a  French  face  and  style  of  beauty, 


96  IN  FETTERS: 

made  quite  notable  by  a  magnificent  growth  of  black, 
silken  hair,  which  crowned  her  head  like  a  diadem,  and 
which  was  made  all  the  more  striking  by  the  scintillating 
streaks  of  silvery  threads  running  through  it.  Her  eyes 
were  of  a  deep  blue  color,  with  long  black  lashes,  and 
eyebrows  of  the  same  color.  Her  face  was  oval,  and  her 
complexion  a  clear  white.  Her  face  had  a  soft,  pleasing 
womanly  expression,  but  did  not  indicate  strength  or 
decision  of  character. 

James  Warden  was  a  man  about  fifty  years  of  age  — 
of  about  medium  size,  stout  and  strongly  built,  with  a 
round  head,  a  thick  neck,  and  was  altogether  of  a  sturdy 
appearance.  His  face  was  full,  eyes  light  gray,  com 
plexion  florid,  with  nose  inclining  to  the  pug  form,  and 
heavy,  strong  jaws.  His  hair  had  been  of  a  reddish 
color,  but  was  now  a  rusty  iron  gray. 

Agnes  Warden  was  taller  than  either  parent,  and 
was  an  almost  exact  counterpart  of  what  her  mother 
undoubtedly  was  at  her  age.  She  had  the  same  deep 
blue  eyes,  which,  however,  took  on  a  different  expression 
under  long  golden  lashes,  while  the  same  magnificent 
wealth  of  hair  possessed  by  her  mother  crowned  her  own 
head,  only  it  was  of  a  golden  tint.  It  was  such  hair,  in 
fact,  as  the  old  Italian  painters  delighted  to  represent  on 
canvas. 

Agnes  had  a  more  earnest  face,  with  much  more  char 
acter  in  it.  That  is,  it  was  expressive.  It  showed  a 
strong  nature,  that  would  suffer  and  endure,  but  would 
not  succumb.  On  the  evening  in  question,  Agnes  was 
more  pensive  than  usual. 

Mr.  Warden's  usually  stolid  face  on  this  particular 
evening  showed  more  than  ordinary  worry  and  trouble, 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PKIEST?  97 

and  it  was  known  to  his  wife  and  daughter  that  he  had 
met  with  a  reverse  in  the  loss  of  one  of  his  ships,  on 
which  there  was  no  insurance. 

'Have  you  heard  any  more  unpleasant  news  today, 
James  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Warden,  as  she  passed  him  the  tea. 

'Yes,'  he  replied,  'the  brig  Midas,  I  learn,  is  ashore 
in  the  Gut  of  Canso,  and  they  say  she  is  "  hogged."  She 
left  here  just  a  week  ago  to-day  with  a  load  of  lumber, 
and  struck  on  a  sand  bar  at  half  tide.  The  wind  was 
fresh,  and  what  with  the  pounding  and  lowering  of  the 
tide,  combined  with  the  weight  of  lumber,  she  quickly 
became  "hogged,"  as  it  is  called  —  and  I  doubt  if  she 
will  ever  amount  to  much.  If  she  had  been  a  total  loss, 
I  would  recover  the  insurance  ;  for  I  had  her  well 
insured  before  sailing.  But  if  they  can  float  her,  and 
she  crosses  the  water,  her  sale  is  lost,  and  I  will  not  get 
my  insurance.  It  will  put  me  in  a  tight  place,  I  fear, 
following  the  loss  of  the  ship.' 

'What,'  said  Mrs.  Warden,  'is  the  situation  really 
serious  ? ' 

'It  is,  Mary.' 

'I  hope  you  do  not  fear  bankruptcy,  James,'  said  Mrs. 
Warden,  turning  a  shade  paler  than  usual. 

'  That  is  just  what  I  do  fear.  My  business  has  been 
falling  off  .of  late.  The  vessels  I  built  have  not  brought 
good  prices  in  the  home  market.  My  traders  have 
hardly  paid  expenses  in  the  last  two  years.  My  best 
ship  is  a  total  loss,  with  her  cargo,  a  third  of  which  was 
mine.  It  was  last  year's  oats,  and  would  have  com 
manded  good  prices  at  home  at  this  season  of  the  year. 
Well,  the  luck  seems  to  be  against  me.' 

Agnes   listened  to  this  conversation  without  making 


98  IN   FETTERS! 

any  comment  or  betraying  any  interest  in  it.  Her  mind 
seemed  preoccupied.  Her  mother  noticed  this  curious 
lack  of  interest  concerning  the  vital  matters  talked  of, 
and  appeared  to  feel  irritated  at  it. 

'  It  does  not  seem  to  affect  Agnes  any,'  she  said,  half 
speaking  to  her.  '  She  seems  not  to  care  whether  we  are 
ruined  or  not.' 

'Ruined,'  said  Agnes,  repeating  the  word;  'who  is 
ruined?' 

'  We  are — that  is,  your  father  is,'  was  the  reply. 

*  I  hope  not,'  said  Agnes.     '  What  is  it,  father  ? ' 

He  explained  the  situation  to  her.  '  It  looks  gloomy,' 
he  said,  'but  it  is  not  as  desperate  as  your  mother  thinks. 
Even  if  it  comes  to  worst,  and  I  should  fail,  I  will  have 
enough  to  satisfy  all  demands  and  something  besides. 
As  it  is,  if  I  had  a  thousand  pounds  I  could  soon  put 
matters  to  rights,  for  I  could  finish  the  two  vessels  now 
on  the  stocks  and  meet  all  demands.' 

'  A  thousand  pounds,'  said  Agnes,  '  and  are  you  sure 
that  amount  would  get  you  over  your  trouble?' 

'Yes,  indeed.  I  shall  receive  five  thousand  pounds  in 
about  two  months  for  the  barque  Medusa,  which  will  be 
turned  over  to  the  purchaser  in  Liverpool  when  she 
returns  from  her  Mediterranean  voyage.  With  that 
money  in  hand,  I  could  meet  every  obligation,  but  in 
the  mean  time  I  shall  need,  in  addition  to  collections  — 
and  they  come  in  slowly — about  a  thousand  pounds.' 

'  Can  you  not  borrow  it?'  asked  Agnes. 

'  I  have  made  the  effort  —  have  tried  every  one  I  know 
or  would  ask — without  success.  They  all  say  they  are 
in  want  of  money  themselves.  There  is  only  one  man 
I  have  not  been  to,  and  I  would  not  ask  a  favor  of  him, 


TBE    MAN   OR    THE    PRIEST?  99 

not  even  a  simple  one,  with  any  expectation  of  obtaining 
it.  Why,  then,  should  I  ask  him  for  one  like  this  ? ' 

'  And  that  man  is  — 

'  Richard  Gaston,'  he  said,  bitterly. 

'  Of  course  you  could  give  good  security  for  a  loan,' 
suggested  Agnes. 

'  The  best  in  Chebucto,'  he  replied. 

Agnes  said  no  more,  and  the  supper  was  finished  in 
silence. 

Now  let  us  look  into  the  Gaston  household.  Richard 
Gaston  sat  beside  a  table  in  his  parlor,  and  his  wife  was 
seated  opposite.  Mrs.  Gaston  was  a  woman  in  the 
neighborhood  of  fifty;  tall,  for  a  woman,  rather  stout, 
and  thoroughly  good-natured  and  motherly  in  appear 
ance.  Her  light-brown  hair  had  begun  to  turn  white  at 
the  roots,  which  rather  added  to  her  matronly  appear 
ance.  Looking  at  her,  one  could  easily  trace  whence 
her  son  Richard  derived  his  characteristics.  In  Richard 
Gaston,  on  the  other  hand,  could  be  traced  the  original 
of  Tom  Gaston,  whom  we  have  just  left  in  Boston,  in 
company  with  his  Mentor.  Mr.  Gaston  was  some  years 
the  senior  of  his  wife,  and  his  hair  was  plentifully 
sprinkled  with  gray.  His  black  eyes  had  not  lost  their 
brightness,  but  there  was  in  them  a  look  of  kindness  —  a 
mellowness,  as  in  old  wine.  The  fires  of  passion  in  them 
had  been  subdued,  and  a  kindly  light  alone  remained. 
While  his  general  expression  was  one  of  kindliness, 
Richard  Gaston  would  impress  one  as  being  a  man  of 
energy  and  decision,  from  whom  justice  would  be  accor 
ded  and  by  whom  it  would  be  demanded.  His  honorable, 
upright  character  shone  in  his  face.  From  his  appear 
ance,  in  fact,  he  would  be  the  last  man  that  one  would 


100  IN  FETTERS: 

suspect  of  a  mean  action.  Mrs.  Gaston  had  two  open 
letters  before  her. 

'  Well,  Richard,  our  boy  is  going  to  Rome.  It  will  be 
a  grand  event  in  his  life ;  and  he  will  see  the  Pope,  and 
St.  Peter's  church,  and  the  cardinals.  And  then  to  think 
of  his  being  made  a  priest  in  Rome!  It  will  be  a  great 
event  for  us.' 

'  I'm  half  inclined  to  disagree  with  you,'  said  Mr.  Gas- 
ton.  'I  do  not  think  it  is  a  great  event  for  either  him 
or  us.  But  I  suppose  we  must  accept  it  as  the  inevitable, 
though  I  could  wish  the  boy  a  better  fate.' 

'What  better  could  you  wish  him?'  asked  the 
mother. 

'  It  would  be  better  for  him  to  remain  at  home  and 
succeed  me  in  my  business,  which  has  prospered  greatly 
in  the  past  two  years.' 

'I  have  no  doubt  there  is  one  other  in  Chebucto  who 
thinks  as  you  do,  though  she  says  never  a  word  of  it. 
Agnes  Warden  is  an  angel,  and,  though  she  tries  not  to 
betray  it,  I  can  see  that  she  still  loves  Richard.  I  some 
times  feel  sad  when  I  look  at  her,  and  see  how  her  life 
has  been  clouded  by  the  obstinacy  of  her  father ;  it 
makes  me  almost  regret  that  Richard  was  so  precipitate 
in  deciding  as  he  did.  Poor  girl !  I  doubt  if  she  will 
ever  marry.  She's  had  several  good  offers  of  marriage  in 
the  past  two  years,  but  refused  all.  They  say  her  father 
has  met  with  some  bad  losses  of  late.  If  she  had  only 
accepted  young  Dawson,  who  is  quite  well  off,  she  might 
be  in  a  position  to  help  her  father.' 

'  Yes.  I  think  Warden  is  hard  pushed  for  means.  I 
hear  he  has  been  trying  to  borrow  money  for  the  past 
week,  without  success.  And  yet  he  has  ample  security 


THE    MAN    OB   THE    PEIEST?  101 

to  offer.     The  fact  is,  he  seems  to  have  but  few  friends 
in  town.' 

'  Richard,  would  you  not  be  willing  to  help  him  out 
by  a  loan?'  asked  the  wife.  'It  would  be  terrible  to  see 
that  girl  reduced  to  poverty  now;  she  who  has  been  so 
well  and  tenderly  reared.' 

'I  would  help  him  out,  I  think,  if  he  asked  me,' 
replied  Mr.  Gaston.  'But  I  know  his  stubborn  nature 
too  well  to  think  he  would  do  it.' 

'  But,  Richard  dear,  would  you  not  go  so  far  as  to 
make  him  an  offer  of  assistance?  It  would  be  a  Chris 
tian  act  on  your  part.' 

'I  would  do  so,'  was  the  reply;  'but  I  know  he  would 
refuse  it,  perhaps  insolently,  and  I  should  be  loath  to 
invite  such  treatment  from  him.' 

Taking  up  the  other  letter  Mrs.  Gaston  said,  with  a 
sigh: 

'  Tom  tells  us  in  this  letter  that  he  is  expecting  Master 
Cluney  by  the  next  boat,  and  will  write  more  when  he 
arrives.  He  always  seems  in  a  hurry  when  he  writes  us. 
Says  he  will  graduate  at  next  term,  when  he  will  begin 
the  practice  of  a  doctor  in  Boston.  I  wish  he  would 
come  home  and  settle  down  with  us.  He  could  soon 
have  a  good  practice  here.' 

'Tom,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  'is  ambitious,  and  feels  that 
the  field  is  too  narrow  for  him  here.  I  wonder  how  he 
gets  along  in  Boston,  and  what  he  does  to  get  a  living. 
I  would  like  to  learn  of  his  habits  there.' 

'  I  am  hopeful,  and  yet  I  fear  for  him,'  said  the  mother. 
'  His  free  thinking  disposition  is  something  that  alarms 
me.  I  hope  he  is  engaged  in  nothing  bad.  He  is  natur- ' 
ally  truthful,  honest,  and'- 


102  IN  FETTERS: 

1  Fear  nothing  for  Tom,  wife.  He  is  too  frank  and 
courageous  to.  engage  in  any  bad  course  of  life,  and  too 
honorable  to  be  dishonest.  As  to  his  free  thinking,  it 
will  not  hurt  him.  I  had  my  share  of  it  when  I  was  a 
young  man,  and  it  has  not  hurt  me,  though  I  am  not  per 
haps  so  devout  a  Catholic  as  some.  But  I  make  it  all 
right  with  Father  Tom.  Ducats  in  exchange  for  the 
consolations  of  religion !  Well,  we  are  none  the  worse 
for  the  exchange,  anyhow;  especially  the  priest.  I 
suppose  Master  Cluney  will  enlighten  us  regarding  the 
radical,  when  he  returns?' 

'Yes.  I  made  him  promise  to  find  out  what  Tom  was 
doing,  and  use  his  influence  to  turn  him  from  the  error 
of  his  ways,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston. 

'  He  will  have  a  tough  subject  in  Tom,  I  can  assure 
you.  You  remember  what  Father  Tom  told  us  about  his 
controversy  with  him  when  last  home  —  about  God  and 
the  devil.  Tom  is  a  positive  fellow'  — 

'  Yes,  just  like  you  were,  years  ago.' 

1  Only  much  more  so.  Well,  we  must  be  patient  with 
him,  and  allow  him  to  work  out  the  problem  in  his  own 
way.' 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  a  servant  announced  a 
visitor  —  Agnes  Warden.  She  had  been  a  regular  caller 
on  Mrs.  Gaston  in  the  daytimes,  but  rarely  came  in  the 
evening.  She  was  greeted  most  affectionately  by  Mrs. 
Gaston,  and  received  a  cordial  welcome  from  Mr. 
Gaston. 

'  Agnes,'  he  said,  'we  were  just  talking  about  the  boys, 
having  had  letters  from  both  to-day.  Tom's  letter  is 
short,  as  usual.  Dick  writes  a  long  one.  He  is  about  to 
start  for '  —  he  paused,  and  his  wife  finished  the  sentence. 


THE    MAX    OR    THE    PKIEST?  103 

'  For  Rome,'  she  said,  '  to  be  ordained.' 

Agnes  turned  her  head  away  from  the  light  for  a 
moment,  and  then  inquired  if  he  was  quite  well.  She 
was  many  shades  paler  than  before,  and  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Gaston  had  noted  her  unusual  paleness  on  entering, 
but  of  course  made  no  remark  about  it. 

After  talking  about  Richard  and  Tom  for  some  time, 
Agnes  turned  to  Mr.  Gaston,  and  asked  him  if  he  had 
heard  of  her  father's  embarrassment.  He  replied  that 
he  had ;  was  truly  sorry  for  it,  and  would  be  glad  to  help 
him  out  of  his  difficulties. 

'  I  asked  Richard  not  more  than  ten  minutes  ago,'  said 
Mrs.  Gaston,  'if  he  would  be  willing  to  help  your  father, 
and  he  said  he  would,  if  asked  by  him.  He,  however, 
judged  your  father  would  not  ask  for  aid,  and  I  sug 
gested  that  he  proffer  it  to  him.  He  said  he  would  even 
do  that,  but  he  did  not  like  to  risk  a  refusal.' 

'How  much  money  does  your  father  want?'  asked  Mr. 
Gaston. 

'A  thousand  pounds,'  replied  Agnes.  'He  says  that 
will  tide  him  over  his  trouble,  and  he  can  give  ample 
security  for  it.' 

'  I  know  he  can,'  said  Mr.  Gaston. 

'  He  has  not  commissioned  me  to  ask  you  for  it,'  said 
Agnes,  'but  I  have  come  of  my  own  impulse.  I  wanted 
to  learn  if  you  would  be  favorable  to  helping  him  out.' 

'  I  will  do  it,  gladly,'  responded  Mr.  Gaston. 

'  God  in  Heaven  bless  you,'  exclaimed  Agnes,  rising 
from  her  seat,  and  bringing  her  hands  together  above 
her  head,  in  the  devotional  manner  of  the  church. 

'  I  can  let  you  have  the  money  to-night  —  now,'  said 
the  generous  man. 


104  IN  FETTERS: 

'  But,  the  security?'  she  asked.     '  What  of  it?' 

'  I  want  no  security  beyond  your  father's  acknowledg 
ment.  In  fact,  I  will  not  even  ask  that.  Let  it  be  a 
debt  of  honor.' 

'  O  this  is  generous ! '  said  Agnes,  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  cheeks.  '  It  is  magnanimous,  princely !  But 
I  will  not  take  it  to-night.  I  will  see  my  father,  and  tell 
him  what  you  will  do.  He  cannot  refuse  aid  so 
generously  offered.  Mr.  Gaston,  you  are  a  true  Christian, 
and  you,'  she  said,  wringing  the  good  wife's  hands,  '  you 
are  an  angel ! ' 

'Just  what  I  said  of  you  less  than  half  an  hour  ago,' 
said  the  benevolent  woman.  'And  now  go  and  tell 
your  father  that  your  friends  are  his  fpiends!'  and  kiss 
ing  her  an  affectionate  adieu,  she  accompanied  the 
grateful  girl  to  the  door. 

'Richard,'  she  said,  on  her  return  to  the  parlor,  'you 
have  acted  nobly,  though  I  fear  you  are  heaping  coals  of 
fire  on  Warden's  head-' 

'  I  cannot  help  it,'  he  replied.  '  I  do  not  desire  to 
humiliate  him,  however.' 

Agnes  hastened  home.  Her  father  and  mother  were 
in  the  sitting  room  discussing  some  matter  when  she 
entered,  but  stopped  abruptly  on  her  appearance.  • 

'  We  were  talking  of  the  gloomy  outlook,'  remarked 
Mrs.  Warden.  'What  would  you  propose,  Agnes?' 

'  P"ather,  as  I  understand  it,  wants  a  thousand  pounds, 
doesn't  he?' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Well,  I  propose  that  he  get  it.' 

«But  how,  child?' 

'  By  asking  it  of  those  who  would  lend  it,'  said  Agnes. 


THE    MAN   OR    THE    PEIEST?  105 

4  Who  will  lend  it  ? '  asked  Mr.  Warden. 

'Richard  Gaston,'  replied  Agnes.  'I  have  asked  him 
for  it,  on  my  own  behalf,  and  he  is  ready  to  let  you 
have  it.' 

'  When  —  on  what  security  ? '  asked  Mr.  Warden. 

'Now  —  to-night,  if  you  want  it,  and  he  asks  no 
security  —  not  even  an  acknowledgment.  He  is  willing 
to  make  it  a  debt  of  honor.' 

'  Is  it  possible  ?  '  said  Warden,  and  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

Agnes  thought  it  best  to  withdraw,  and  leave  him 
with  her  mother. 

When  she  met  her  parents  at  breakfast  next  morning 
she  noted  an  air  of  subdued  and  reflective  thought  about 
her  father  —  a  something  indicating  the  result  of  a 
struggle,  which  had  allowed  him  little  rest  during  the 
night.  He  looked  at  her  kindly. 

'  Agnes,'  he  said,  '  I  have  thought  it  all  over  during 
the  night.  It  was  hard  at  first,  but  you  have  conquered. 
I  will  go,  for  your  sake,  and  see  Richard  Gaston,  and, 
more  than  that,  I  will  tell  him  of  my  sorrow  for  the 
rejection  of  Dick's  suit,  which  I  will  recall.  Is  not  that 
all  I  can  do,  and  what  I  should  do  to  atone  for  the  past'?' 

'Alas,  father,  so  far  as  recalling  the  past  is  concerned  I 
fear  it  will  be  of  little  avail.  By  this  time  Richard 
has  started  for  Rome,  where  he  is  to  be  ordained.  They 
had  a  letter  from  him  to  that  effect  last  night.' 

'  Let  us  hope  it  will  not  be  too  late  to  recall  him,'  said 
Mrs.  Warden.  '  Go,  James  —  go  at  once,  and  carry  out 
your  purpose  with  Mr.  Gaston.' 

The  clerks  in  Mr.  Gaston's  store  were  surprised  to  see 
James  Warden  enter  it  on  the  morning  in  question.  He 


10(5  IN  FETTERS: 

went  directly  to  the  private  office,  and  when  the  door 
was  closed  behind  him,  much  speculation  as  to  the  pur 
pose  of  his  visit  was  indulged  in  by  them. 

On  entering  the  office  Mr.  Warden  was  met  by  Mr. 
Gaston,  who  rose  from  his  seat  and  came  to  him  with 
extended  hands,  and  the  friendly  grasp  of  old-time 
friendship.  He  was  embarrassed  by  this  cordiality,  and 
began  what  was  intended  for  an  apology,  which  Mr. 
Gaston  cut  short,  after  motioning  him  to  be  seated, 
by  saying: 

'  Friend  Warden,  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  cherish 
no  hard  feeling  for  what  has  passed.  Let  us  both  look 
to  the  present.  Your  daughter  Agnes  has  told  me  of 
your  embarrassment,  and  I  assured  her  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  afford  you  any  assistance  in  my  power. 
She  told  me  that  one  thousand  would  help  you  out  of 
the  rut,  and  I  said  to  her  I  would  let  you  have  it.  I  say 
the  same  to  you  now,  and  will  add  that  if  you  need 
another  thousand  you  can  have  it,  also.' 

James  Warden's  face,  during  this  colloquy,  was  a 
study.  A  sense  of  shame  blended  with  humility  shone 
on  it,  and  even  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  It  was  a  few 
moments  before  he  could  master  his  emotion  sufficiently 
to  express  himself. 

'Richard,'  he  said,  'you  are  a  splendid,  magnanimous 
fellow,  and — what  I  have  not  been  —  a  good  Christian. 
I  accept  your  kind  offer  —  a  thousand  is  all  I  need  —  and 
ask  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  which  I  have  done  to  you 
and  yours.' 

'  It  is  freely  granted,  James,'  replied  Mr.  Gaston. 

'  More  than  that,  I  withdraw  all  objection  to  your  son 
being  a  suitor  for  Agnes'  hand.  It  was  a  wicked  thing 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  107 

in  me  to  thwart  them  in  their  hopes.     I  have  long  deeply . 
regretted  it,  but  was  too  cursed  obstinate  to  retract.' 

'  I  fear,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  '  that  it  may  be  too  late  to 
recall  the  boy.  He  has  started  for  Rome,  to  be  ordained.' 

*  Can't  he  be  recalled  ?  Can't  you  get  Tom  to  inter 
cept  him  in  Boston  ?'  eagerly  asked  Warden. 

'  It  is  barely  possible.  I  will  try.  In  fact  I  will  start 
for  Boston  myself  this  afternoon,  and  see  Tom ;  and  if 
the  boy  has  sailed,  send  Tom  after  him  in  the  next 
steamer.  Here  is  the  money,  Mr.  Warden,  and  I  hope 
it  will  aid  you  in  tiding  over  your  trouble.  No  note,  no 
security  —  nothing,  nothing,  positively  —  it  is  a  debt  of 
honor.' 

When  Mr.  Warden  departed,  Mr.  Gaston  summoned 
his  head  clerk,  and  told  him  of  his  sudden  departure  for 
Boston,  to  be  gone  perhaps  for  two  or  three  weeks,  and 
instructed  him  about  the  business  during  his  absence. 
Then  he  went  home  and  acquainted  his  wife  with  the 
position  of  affairs,  and  of  his  determination  to  recover 
his  son,  if  possible,  from  the  bosom  of  the  church. 

Mrs.  Gaston  was  not  prepared  for  the  turn  events  had 
taken,  and  for  a  time  she  was  bewildered.  She  did 
want  her  son  to  be  a  priest,  but  she  knew  it  would  be 
more  to  his  taste  to  marry ;  and,  as  she  loved  Agnes  like 
a  daughter,  she  after  a  time  became  reconciled,  and  even 
heartily  in  favor  of  recalling  Richard. 

When  the  steamer  left  the  wharf  on  that  Thursday 
afternoon,  to  connect  with  other  steamers  and  with  land 
conveyances  on  the  route  to  Boston,  Richard  Gaston  the 
elder  was  among  her  passengers. 


108  IN  FETTERS: 


CHAPTER  X. 

LOST  LOVE  NOTES THEODORE    PARKER   ON    PROTESTANT 
ISM A    FAMOUS    MESMERIST. 

'  So  Richard  is  on  his  way  to  be  sacrificed,'  said  Tom, 
to  his  friend,  Cluney,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the 
steamer's  departure.  '  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more 
I  am  dissatisfied  with  the  whole  business.  It  looks  to 
me  as  if  his  life  is  to  be  wasted  —  for  what?  ' 

'  Do  you  know,'  remarked  Cluney,  c  that  Richard  is  in 
a  measure  responsible  for  the  present  condition  of  affairs. 
He  was  too  impatient,  too  precipitate  in  action.  What 
he  should  have  done  was  to  wait.  Time  would  perhaps 
have  changed  the  whole  tenor  of  affairs,  and  given  him 
his  heart's  desire.  Agnes  would  have  waited  for  him ; 
why  not  he  for  her?' 

'  That  is  true,'  said  Tom,  '  and  the  poor  fellow  still 
loves  her  to  distraction.  Here  is  something  which 
proves  it.  I  found  it  where  he  dropped  it  on  the  floor, 
and  laid  it  on  the  table  intending  to  take  it  with  me  and 
deliver  it  to  him  before  parting  at  the  steamship  in  East 
Boston,  but  forgot  it.  It  is  rhyme  —  poetry,  possibly  — 
and  though  I  have  only  read  the  opening  stanza,  it 
strikes  me  as  indicative  of  a  peculiar  case  of  brooding 
over  the  past  when  hope  has  been  left  behind.  Shall  I 
read  it  to  you?' 

'  It  would  perhaps  be  unfair  to  read  such  an  effusion 
evidently  intended  only  for  his  own  eye,  under  ordinary 
circumstances ;  but  if  it  will  reveal  the  true  state  of  his 
mind,  it  may  be  proper  to  read  it,'  replied  Cluney. 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  109 

'  Here  it  is,  then,'  said  Tom.     '  It  is  addressed — 

'TO    AGNES. 

'  "Pis  some  time  since,  to  thee,  my  heart's  delight, 
I  waked  the  slumbering  muse  to  sing  my  sighs  — 

'  Sing  his  sighs  is  not  bad,'  remarked  Cluney,  drily. 

'  To  tell  how  hopes,  fantastically  bright, 

And  beautiful  as  summer  butterflies, 
Had  scorched  their  wings  in  the  inflaming  light 

Of  thy  bright  beaming  beauty,  which  defies 
Philosophy's    far-reaching    medicine,   the    mind's    best 

friend, 
And  like  a  fire  consumes  all  thoughts  that  upward  tend.' 

'  Well,'  said  Cluney,  '  that  is  not  a  bad  stanza  to  set 
out  with,  but  it  shows,  and  no  doubt  truly,  the  state  of 
the  poor  fellow's  heart.  But,  go  on.' 

'  But  now,  ere  pale  forgetfulness  befriends 
The  wandering  lover,  and  beguiles  the  sense ; 

While  a  dark  future  o'er  his  path  impends, 
And  nought  of  labor  past  yields  recompense; 

'Tis  now  the  thought  of  love,  ill-given,  contends 

With  thoughts  opposed;  and  yet — oh  vain  pretense — 

I  seem  to  love  not,  while  my  heart  is  filled  with  fire, 

The  same    that  burns   in    every  breast   and   never   can 
expire. 

'  He  must  have  a  warm  heart,'  interjected  Cluney. 
Tom  read  on : 

'And  I  have  loved  thee  with  a  manly  love  — 
A  warm  affection,  glowing  and  sincere  — 

But,  ah,  'twas  hopeless,  and  I  inly  strove 
To  check  its  blind,  its  futile,  mad  career. 

But  passion  will  a  conqueror  oft  prove  — 

As  it  has  proved  —  stern,  poignant,  and  severe. 

Oh  would  that  cup  of  bitterness  were  far  removed, 

And  I  had  never  tasted  it — never  had  loved. 


110  ±N   FETTERS i 

'  Poor  fellow,'  said  Cluney.     '  He  takes  it  hard.' 

*  He  does,'  replied  Tom,  and  read  on : 

'  Had  loved !     And  hath  not  God  himself  ordained 
That  man  should  have  a  helpmate,  to  enjoy, 

With  him,  all  happiness  in  life  contained? 
And  all  should  taste  the  bliss,  without  alloy, 

Of  loving  and  being  loved.     What  else  remained, 
Without  this  boon,  the  affections  to  employ? 

Nothing  but  low  and  sensual  appetites, 

The  baser  passions'  pals  and  parasites.' 

1  Clearly  he  is  not  cut  out  for  a  priest,'  said  Cluney. 
A  man  with  such  sentiments  would  not  take  kindly  to 
bachelor  existence.' 

*  I  knew  that  all  along,'  said  Tom.     He  resumed : 

'Yes;  disappointment  in  my  heart's  enshrined, 
And  hope  has  sunk  below  horizon's  verge. 

Hope  is  the  guiding  star  to  every  mind  — 
The  polar  point  to  which  all  joys  converge; 

Which,  once  lost  sight  of,  or  but  ill-defined, 
Can  never  from  obscurity  emerge. 

No — for  the  mind,  once  disappointed,  ne'er  regains 

Its  former  trust,  and  faith  and  love  disdains.' 

'  This  shows  a  misanthropy  which  I  think  is  foreign  to 
Dick's  nature,'  remarked  Cluney.  '  But  he'll  get  over  it.' 

'  I  am  not  sure  of  that,'  said  Tom.     '  It  is  a  bad  con 
dition  of  mind  to  be  in,  I  should  say.     There  is  but  one 
more  stanza.     Here  it  is : ' 
'  Time  hath  worn  wrinkles  on  unnumbered  brows ; 

Hath  borne  great  millions  to  a  final  doom; 
But  still  affection  will  the  heart  arouse; 

Love  still,  like  flowers  on  a  grave,  will  bloom. 
No  moment  passes  that  hath  not  its  vows, 

And  all  the  moments  loving  vows  entomb. 
Then  why  should  I  not  live  and  love  my  day  ? 
Soon  death  shall  sweep  my  castled  hopes  away.' 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  Ill 

'Why,'  said  Cluney,  '  that  is  good  poetry — that  stanza, 
in  a  poetic  sense,  is  worth  all  the  rest.  Like  the  pearl 
oyster,  Dick's  agony  wrings  jeweled  tears  from  him. 
He  has  the  poetic  faculty,  and  if  he  cultivated  it,  might 
become  a  second  Byron.' 

'  I'd  sooner  have  him  a  poet  than  a  priest,'  said  Tom ; 
at  which  naive  remark  Cluney  laughed  heartily,  and  Tom, 
catching  the  comicality  of  the  idea,  joined  him. 

'Well,'  he  said,  'would  it  not  be  better  to  write  senti 
ment  in  rhyme  than  to  talk  nonsense  in  prose,  and  dub 
it,  "thus  saith  the  Lord"?  It  would  not  be  productive  of 
so  much  harm,  to  my  way  of  thinking.' 

'That  may  be,  if  your  way  of  thinking  were  a  correct 
one,'  said  Cluney.  '  I  suppose  it  is  natural  for  man  to 
love.  No  doubt  when  Adam  and  Eve  first  beheld  one 
another,  in  the  garden  of  Eden,  it  was  a  case  of  mutual 
love  at  first  sight.' 

'  I  hope  you  do  not  include  that  nonsense  in  your 
faith,'  said  Tom.  'It  is  of  a  piece  with  most  of  the 
absurdity  connected  with  the  genesis  of  man  and  things 
in  the  Bible.' 

'  For  want  of  a  better,  it  has  served  a  purpose  to  the 
present  time  —  creation,  the  fall  of  man,  and  concomitant 
circumstances.  Do  you  know  of  any  better?'  asked 
Cluney,  with  a  slight  accent  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice. 

'  I  have  a  higher  conception  of  man's  origin  than  that. 
That  is  to  say,  a  better  one.  Now,  just  for  a  moment 
consider  the  inconsistency  of  this  Jewish  or  Egyptian 
fable,  so  far  as  it  relates  to  man  :  God,  an  absolutely 
wise  and  almighty  creator,  made  man  in  his  own  likeness. 
(The  truth  is,  however,  that  man  made  God  in  his  own 
likeness.)  Then  —  for,  according  to  the  a*ccount,  his 


112  IN  FETTERS: 

work  was  of  an  "experimental  nature,  —  he  saw  that  it 
was  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,  and  he  put  him  into  a 
deep  sleep ;  took  a  rib  from  his  side  and  made  it  into  a 
woman !  What  utter  nonsense ! ' 

'Do  you  think  such  a  feat  is  impossible  to  the 
Creator?'  asked  Cluney. 

'  Of  course  I  do,'  replied  Tom.  '  That  is,  I  believe  it 
impossible  to  have  been  done  in  a  way  contrary  to  the 
ordinary  laws  of  production  and  reproduction.  Adam 
was  never  created  as  is  asserted  in  the  fable.  lie  came 
in  the  ordinary  way.  That  is,  man  came  in  a  form  or  as 
a  result  of  slow  development  from  lower  conditions  of 
existence.  But  this  is  not  my  point  here. 

'What  I  want  to  point  out  to  you  is  the  manifest 
absurdity  of  this  very  claim  of  miraculous  creation,  and 
the  history  of  this  precious  pair  from  whom  we  are  said  ( 
to  be  descended.  Now,  according  to  the  account,  God 
created  the  first  man  and  woman  perfect,  that  is,  without 
sin.  Now,  what  did  this  perfect  pair  do,  to  begin  with  ? 
They  disobeyed  God — became  thieves  and  prevaricators! 

'Evidently,  the  job  was  a  bad  one  from  the  beginning. 
Well,  to  mend  his  bungling  work,  this  all- wise  God  turned 
this  precious  pair  out  of  Eden,  cursed  the  ground  for 
Adam's  sake,  or,  rather  his  own  (God's)  mistake  in  man- 
making,  and  condemned  Adam  to  eat  his  bread  in  the 
sweat  of  his  face.  This  was  the  curse  —  a  curious  one, 
indeed!  It  might  rather  be  called  a  blessing,  for  in  the 
necessity  to  work  resides  the  germ  of  all  true  progress 
among  men. 

'  Well,  after  they  left  the  Garden  of  Eden,  this  couple 
had  two  sons,  in  whom  were  intensified  the  depravity  of 
their  parents.  One  of  them  added  the  crime  of  murder 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  113 

to  the  original  sin  of  Adam  and  Eve,  which  consisted 
in  disobeying  the  command  of  God  by  eating  an  apple ! 
This  fruit,  we  are  told,  grew  on  a  tree  in  the  midst  of  the 
garden.  Was  it  placed  there  to  afford  an  opportunity  to 
tempt  that  badly-constructed  pair?  Then,  to  surely  com 
pass  their  destruction,  God  endowed  a  serpent  with  the 
power  of  persuasive  speech,  and  allowed  him  to  tell  Eve 
that  if  she  and  Adam  ate  of  the  fruit  they  would  be  as 
gods,  would  know  good  and  evil,  and  would  not  die ! 

'  Just  imagine  what  a  treasure  a  talking  serpent  would 
be  to  Barnum  in  his  New  York  museum.  I  would  like 
to  hear  a  serpent  speak  —  articulate  with  his  peculiar 
mouth  and  forked  tongue.  But  no  doubt  in  the  age  of 
fable  everything  talked,  even  asses.  Baalam's '  - 

'  For  that  matter  asses  may  talk  today,'  drily  remarked 
Cluney.  Tom  continued  —  after  acknowledging  the  hit, 
which  in  no  way  disconcerted  him — 

'Then  the  ages  rolled  onward.  The  earth  was  peopled. 
It  became  more  and  more  wicked  in  every  way,  until 
God  decided  to  blot  out  his  failure  by  drowning  the 
whole  brood  of  men  and  animals.  But  he  relented  so 
far  as  to  save  one  little  family  colony  of  all  of  them. 

'  Then  more  ages  passed,  and  men  again  multiplied  on 
the  earth  and  became  very  wicked.  And  then  this 
experimental  God  sent  his  only  son  among  this  wicked 
race  to  be  killed  as  an  atonement  —  for  what?  For  his 
own  bungling  work!  Pshaw!  If  I  couldn't  invent  a 
better  God  than  Moses  gave  the  world,  I  would  —  well, 
I'd  go  to  work  at  writing  poor  poetry! ' 

Cluney  laughed  heartily  at  Tom's  conclusion.  'Tom,' 
he  said,  'you  are  an  iconoclast  of  "purest  ray  serene."  ' 

'Am  I?'  responded  Tom.    '  Then  I  am  not  ashamed  of 


114  IN  FETTERS: 

my  work  in  pulling  down  such  a  badly-constructed 
temple  of  superstition  as  that  is.  No,  no.  Nature  is 
more  logical  in  its  operations.  It  makes  no  such  blun 
ders  as  this  one.  The  true  creative  principle  of  the 
universe  makes  no  such  mistakes  as  creating  perfect 
beings  and  then  finding  them  imperfect  —  lacking  in 
some  of  the  most  essential  qualities  needed  by  them. 
The  fact  is  that,  in  the  active  processes  of  the  universe, 
conditions  are  progressive,  and  therefore  changing  all  the 
time.' 

'  How  do  you  know  this,  Tom  ? ' 

'By  the  inductive  process.  You  taught  me  in  your 
school  that  analogy  was  the  basis  of  inductive  reasoning, 
and  by  that  method  I  obtain  my  conclusions.  I  feel  they 
are  sound  and  logical.' 

'Well,  examined  in  the  light  of  reason,  the  things 
related  in  Genesis  can  not  be  accepted  on  any  hypothesis. 
The  best  we  can  do  is  to  accept  them  figuratively.' 

'Do  you  accept  them  in  that  way?'  asked  Tom. 

'No,  I  do  not,'  was  the  reply,  and  the  subject  was 
dropped. 

The  friends  continued  to  enjoy  themselves  by  short 
excursions  into  the  country,  down  to  Chelsea  beach,  and 
elsewhere.  Nahant  and  Hull  were  visited,  Bunker  Hill 
Monument  and  the  State  House  cupola  climbed  up  into, 
and  fine  views  of  Boston  and  its  surroundings  enjoyed; 
and  in  these  and  other  ways  the  time  for  the  remainder 
of  the  week  was  passed. 

On  Sunday,  the  forenoon  preaching  by  Theodore 
Parker  was  attended.  His  theme  was  Protestantism,  in 
which  he  discussed  the  merits  of  the  Protestant  party  in 
the  religion  of  the  world. 


THE    MAN    OU   THE    PKLEST  ?  115 

"The  merit  of  Protestantism,"  he  said,  "was  both 
negative  and  positive.  It  was  right  in  declaring  the 
lioman  church  with  its  clergy,  cardinals,  councils,  popes, 
no  more  inspired  than  other  men,  and  therefore  no  more 
fit  than  others  to  keep  Tradition,  expound  Scripture,  and 
hold  the  key  of  Heaven.  It  was  right  in  denying  the 
authority  of  the  church  in  temporal  matters ;  in  declaring 
that  its  tradition  was  no  better  than  any  other  tradition, 
nay,  was  even  less  valuable,  for  the  church  had  told  lies 
in  the  premises,  and  the  fact  was  undeniable. 

"  The  capital  vice  of  Protestantism  was  to  limit  the 
power  of  private  inspiration,  and,  since  there  must  be 
somewhere  a  standard  external  or  within  us,  to  make  the 
Bible  master  the  soul.  Theoretically,  it  narrowed  the 
sources  of  our  religious  truth,  and  instead  of  three,  as  the 
Catholics,  it  gave  us  but  one;  though,  practically,  it  did 
more  than  the  Catholics,  for  it  brought  men  directly  to 
one  fountain  of  truth.  But  the  sacramental  error  of 
Protestantism  in  restricting  private  judgment  of  the 
doctrines  of  the  Bible  was  in  part  neutralized  by 
admitting  freedom  of  individual  conscience,  and  there 
fore  the  right  and  the  duty  to  interpret  the  Bible. 

"  If  Protestantism  have  great  merits,  it  has  great  faults, 
which  come  from  its  peculiar  doctrine,  while  its  merits 
have  a  deeper  source.  It  makes  God  dark  and  awful ;  a 
judge,  not  a  protector ;  jealous,  selfish  and  vindictive. 
All  the  lovely  traits  of  divine  character  it  bestows  upon 
the  Son;  he  is  mild  and  beautiful  as  God  is  awful  and 
morose.  Men  rush  from  the  Father ;  they  flee  to  the  Son. 
Its  religion  is  fear  of  God,  not  love  of  him,  for  man  can 
not  love  what  is  not  lovely. 

"  This   system    degrades    man.     He   is   born    totally 


116  IN  FETTERS: 

depraved,  and  laden,  besides,  with  the  sins  of  Adam. 
He  can  do  nothing  to  recover  from  these  sins;  the 
righteousness  of  Christ  is  the  only  ground  of  the  sinner's 
justification;  this  righteousness  is  received  through 
'faith,'  which  is  'the  gift  of  God,'  and  so  'salvation  is 
wholly  of  grace.'  The  salvation  of  man  is  wrought  for 
him,  not  by  him.  It  logically  annihilates  the  difference 
between  good  and  evil,  denying  the  ultimate  value  of  a 
manly  life. 

"It  does  not  tell  of  God  now,  near  at  hand,  but  a  long 
while  ago.  It  makes  the  Bible  a  tyrant  of  the  soul.  It 
is  our  master  in  all  departments  of  thought.  Science 
must  lay  its  kingly  head  in  the  dust;  reason  veil  her 
majestic  countenance;  conscience  bow  him  to  the  earth; 
affection  keep  silence  when  the  priest  uplifts  the  Bible. 
It  takes  the  Bible  for  God's  statute-book ;  combines  old 
Hebrew  notions  into  a  code  of  ethics ;  takes  figures  for 
fact ;  settles  questions  in  morals  and  religion  by  texts  of 
Scripture !  It  can  justify  anything  out  of  the  Bible.  It 
wars  to  the  knife  against  gaiety  of  heart;  condemns 
amusement  as  sinful ;  sneers  at  common  sense ;  spits  upon 
reason,  calling  it  'carnal;'  appeals  to  low  and  selfish 
aims — to  fear,  the  most  selfish  and  base  of  all  passions. 

"It  makes  religion  unnatural  to  men,  and  of  course 
hostile ;  Christianity  alien  to  the  soul.  It  paves  hell 
with  children's  bones ;  has  a  personal  Devil  in  the  world, 
to  harry  the  land,  and  lure  or  compel  men  to  eternal 
woe.  Its  God  is  diabolical.  It  puts  an  intercessor 
between  God  and  man;  relies  on  the  advocate.  Cannot 
the  Infinite  love  his  frail  children  without  teasing?  Can 
men  approach  the  Everywhere-present  only  by  attor 
ney,  as  a  beggar  comes  to  a  Turkish  king?  Away  with 


THE    MAN    OB   THE    PRIEST?  117 

such  folly !  Jesus  of  Nazareth  bears  his  own  sins,  not 
another's.  How  can  his  righteousness  be  'imputed' to 
me?  Goodness  out  of  me  is  not  mine;  helps  me  no  more 
than'  another's  food  feeds  or  his  sleep  refreshes  me. 
Adam's  sin,  —  it  was  Adam's  affair,  not  mine. 

"  This  system  applies  to  God  the  language  of  kings' 
courts,  trial,  sentence,  judgment,  pardon,  satisfaction, 
allegiance,  day  of  judgment.  Like  a  courtier,  it  lays 
stress  on  forms  —  baptism,  which  in  itself  is  nothing  but 
a  dispensation  of  water ;  the  Lord's  supper,  which  of 
itself  is  nothing  but  a  dispensation  of  wine  and  bread. 
It  makes  men  stiff,  unbending,  cold,  formal,  austere, 
seldom  lovely.  They  have  the  strength  of  the  law,  not 
of  the  gospel ;  the  cunning  of  the  Pharisee,  not  the  sim 
plicity  of  the  Christian. 

"You  know  its  followers  soon  as  you  see  them;  the 
rose  is  faded  out  of  their  cheeks ;  their  mouth  drooping 
and  sad;  their  appearance  says,  Alas,  my  fellow- worm! 
It  is  a  faith  of  stern,  morose  men,  well  befitting  the 
decendants  of  Odin,  and  his  iron  peers;  its  religion  is  a 
principle,  not  a  sentiment;  a  foreign  matter  imported 
into  the  soul,  by  forethought  and  resolution ;  not  a  native 
fountain  of  joy  and  gladness,  leaping  up  in  winter's  frost, 
and  summer's  gladness,  playing  with  the  sober  autumn, 
or  the  sunshine  of  spring. 

"  The  Heaven  of  this  system  is  a  grand  pay-day,  where 
Humility  is  to  have  its  coach  and  six,  forsooth,  because 
she  has  been  humble ;  the  saints  and  martyrs,  who  bore 
trials  in  the  world,  are  to  take  their  vengeance  by  shout 
ing  'Hallelujah,  glory  to  God!'  when  they  see  the 
anguish  of  their  old  persecutors,  and  the  '  smoke  of  their 
torment  ascending  up  forever  and  ever.' 


118  IN  FETTERS: 

"Do  the  joys  of  paradise  pall  on  the  pleasure- jaded 
senses  of  the  'elect?'  They  look  off  in  the  distance  to 
the  tortures  of  the  damned,  where  destruction  is  naked 
before  them,  and  hell  hath  no  covering;  where  the  devil 
with  his  angels  stirreth  up  the  embers  of  the  fire  which 
is  never  quenched;  where  the  doubters,  whom  the  church 
could  neither  answer  nor  put  to  silence ;  where  the  great 
men  of  antiquit}^  Confucius,  Budha,  Zoroaster,  Pytha 
goras,  Anaxagoras,  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle;  where  the 
men,  great,  and  gifted,  and  glorious,  who  mocked  at 
difficulty,  softened  the  mountains  of  despair,  and  hewed 
a  path  amid  the  trackless  waste,  that  mortal  feet  might 
tread  the  way  of  peace ;  where  the  great  men  of  modern 
times,  who  would  not  insult  the  Deity  by  bowing  to  the 
foolish  word  of  a  hireling  priest — where  .all  these  writhe 
in  their  tortures,  turn  and  turn  and  find  no  ray,  but  yell 
in  fathomless  despair;  and  when  the  elect  behold  all  this 
they  say,  striking  on  their  harps  of  gold,  'Aha!  We 
are  comforted  and  thou  art  tormented,  for  the  Lord  God 
Omnipotent  reigneth,  and  our  garments  are  washed 
white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb!": 

The  applause  on  this  occasion,  though  not  so  strong 
as  on  the  previous  Sunday,  was  still  hearty  enough. 
It  was  not  so  striking  to  Cluney  as  on  the  former 
occasion,  but  was  enough  so  to  cause  him  to  again 
remark  the  strangeness  of  it. 

'  I  can  hardly  reconcile  it,'  he  said,  '  with  my  idea  of 
divine  worship.  I  could  imagine  that,  at  the  Day  of 
Judgment,  when  the  Lord  would  sentence  some  par 
ticularly  obnoxious  tyrant  to  perdition,  this  kind  of 
people  would  burst  out  into  applause.' 

'But  this  was  not  a  divine  worship,  in  your  sense  of 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PRIEST  ?  119 

the  term,  but  a  meeting  of  human  beings,  to  be  guided 
and  instructed  in  rational  views  of  things  which  concern 
the  world  of  ordinary  humanity ;  and  I  can  see  nothing 
improper  in  thus  giving  evidence  of  approval  of  the 
views  expressed.' 

'Perhaps  not;  it  is  of  course  a  good  deal  as  to  how 
one  views  it,'  replied  Cluney. 

'Yes,  and  as  to  what  one  is  accustomed  to,'  said 
Tom. 

After  dinner  the  conversation  turned  on  where  the 
friends  would  go  in  the  evening.  'For,'  said  Tom  to 
Cluney,  '  as  it  is  your  last  Sunday  with  me,  [the  school 
master  was  going  to  Saratoga  the  latter  part  of  the  week, 
and  from  there  to  Montreal,  and  thence  direct  home  by 
water]  I  want  to  treat  you  to  some  novelty.  Let  me 
see :  How  would  a  Spiritualist  meeting  suit  you  ?' 

'  Just  the  thing,'  was  the  reply.  '  I  would  like  to  be 
present  at  one  of  these  meetings.' 

'  Well,'  said  Tom,  '  there  is  a  regular  Sunday  night 
meeting  of  these  people  in  a  small  hall  on  Washington 
street,  where  tomorrow  evening  I  intend  to  have  you  go 
and  see  Prof.  Leroy,  the  great  mesmerist.' 

During  the  afternoon,  however,  the  friends  took  a 
stroll  on  the  Common,  and  then  down  to  the  harbor 
front  on  the  wharves.  On  Long  wharf  were  a  number 
of  Indiamen  — fine  ships  for  the  time. 

'The  Yankees  are  fast  becoming  a  sea-faring  nation,' 
remarked  Cluney. 

'  They  are  that  already,'  replied  Tom,  '  and  will  soon 
lay  over  England  in  that  respect.' 

'  I  doubt  it,  Tom.  England  —  that  is,  Great  Britain  — 
depends  on  her  merchant  marine  for  her  supremacy  as  a 


120  IN    FETTEKS: 

nation  of  manufacturers  and  shopkeepers,  as  well  as  on 
her  navy  for  practical  naval  domination  on  the  oceon. 
Her  maritime  supremacy  is,  in  fact,  absolutely  necessary 
to  her  continuance  as  a  first  class  power ;  and  she  will 
not  lightly  surrender  it  to  any  other  nation.  Besides, 
this  country,  with  a  vast  interior  full  of  natural  resources, 
will  find  in  other  lines  of  production  more  profit  than  in 
mere  sea-faring.' 

'Perhaps  you  are  right;  this  is  a, magnificent  country, 
of  grand  resources,  and  destined  to  be  the  greatest 
nation  in  the  world.' 

'  I  doubt  it  not,'  rejoined  Cluney. 

In  the  evening  the  friends, with  others,  repaired  to  the 
hall  on  Washington  street,  but,  for  some  reason  that 
could  not  be  learned,  there  was  no  meeting  that  night. 

One  of  the  men  in  the  crowd  of  disappointed  ones 
attracted  Cluney's  attention.  He  pointed  the  man  out 
to  Tom  Gaston,  who  immediately  recognized  him. 

'  That  is  Prof.  Leroy,  the  mesmerist,'  he  said. 

'He  might  also  be  the  devil,'  remarked  Cluney.  'He 
looks  uncanny  enough  to  be  a  spirit  of  some  kind,  though 
certainly  not  an  angel.' 

Prof.  Leroy  was  certainly  a  very  strange-looking  man. 
He  was  dark  and  swarthy  enough  to  be  an  East  Indian. 
He  might  be  taken  to  have  negro  blood  in  him,  if  he  had 
not  such  a  great  growth  of  coarse  black  hair  on  his  head. 
His  eyes  were  very  black,  and,  in  harmony  with  his  face, 
gave  him  rather  a  singular  and  unearthly  appearance. 

'I  have  made  his  acquaintance,'  said  Tom;  'and,  now 
that  we  are  disappointed  in  our  Spiritualist  meeting,  sup 
pose  I  introduce  you,  take  him  home  with  us,  and  see 
what  he  can  do.  He,  at  least,  is  an  intelligent  man,  and 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PEIEST?  121 

is  very  frank  in  conversation,  and  an  interesting  talker.' 

'Agreed,'  said  Cluney. 

The  introduction  took  place,  and  Tom  asked  the 
professor  if  he  would  accompany  them.  He  readily 
consented,  and  the  trio  were  soon  seated  in  Tom's  rooms 
at  the  West  End. 

Tom  had  noted  that  from  the  time  Cluney  first  saw 
Leroy  he  appeared  like  one  fascinated  by  him,  and, 
thinking  that  perhaps  he  might  prove  a  good  subject, 
the  wicked  thought  came  to  him  to  suggest  to  the 
professor  to  give  an  exhibition  of  his  art  then  and  there, 
Cluney  to  be  the  victim.  He  knew  the  professor  would 
oblige  him,  for  he  had  written  some  flattering  notices  of 
his  exhibitions  in  the  Times. 

Accordingly,  after  some  general  conversation,  in 
which  he  took  especial  pains  to  dilate  on  the  wonderful 
power  of  the  mesmerist,  Tom  asked  him  if  he  would  not 
give  an  exhibition  of  his  power  among  themselves,  and 
offered  himself  as  a  subject. 

'  There  is  a  subject  present,'  said  Leroy,  '  but  you  are 
not  the  one.  I  would  not,  however,  think  of  operating 
on  Mr.  Cluney,  without  first  obtaining  his  consent.' 

'I  doufct  if  you  could  mesmerize  him,'  said  Tom,  wink 
ing  at  the  professor.  'Do  you  think  he  could?'  he  asked 
addressing  Cluney. 

'  I  do  not  know,'  replied  Cluney,  in  an  indifferent  way ; 
'  but  he  can  try.' 

'  I  need  not  do  that,'  said  Leroy.  'You  are  already 
under  my  control.' 

Tom  saw  that  indeed  Cluney  was  already  mesmerized. 
'Now,'  thought  he,  'I  will  have  some  rare  fun  with  him.' 
But  he  was  cautious  about  speaking  out  his  wishes,  so  he 


122  m  FETTERS: 

wrote  on   a   slip   of   paper,    which   he   handed   to   the 
professor : 

'  Ask  him  if  he  doesn't  know  his  uncle,  Father  Tom  — 
meaning  me?     Then  lead  him  on  to  talk  the  strongest 
kind  of  Infidelity  to  me;   and  make  him  talk  it  in  the 
rich  Cork  brogue.     (He's  a  native  of  Cork.) ' 

Taking  his  cue,  the  professor  addressed  Cluney  with : 

'Well,  sir;  why  don't  you  speak  to  your  uncle,  here  — 
Father  Tom?' 

Cluney  looked  at  Tom  fixedly,  for  a  moment,  and  then 
approached  him,  and  said : 

'  Well,  uncle  Tom,  what  the  devil  brings  you  here  ? ' 

'Put  a  little  Cork  brogue  in  your  talk,'  suggested 
Leroy,  '  when  you  are  speaking  with  his  reverence.' 

'Well,  ye  ould  spalpeen,  what  the  divvel  brings  ye 
here?  D'ye  think  I'm  an  omadhawn,  that  can't  take 
care  of  meself?' 

'No,'  replied  Tom,  who  could  hardly  refrain  from 
laughing  outright ;  '  but  I'm  afraid  ye'll  lose  yer  sowl  in 
Boston,  along  wid  that  blaggard,  Tom  Gaston.' 

'  Tell  him  what  an  out-and-out  Infidel  you  are,'  sug 
gested  Leroy ;  '  and  you  needn't  use  the  brogue  in  doing 
it.'  . 

Cluney  straightened  himself  up,  and  assuming  a  tone 
and  dignity  habitual  to  him  in  addressing  a  class  at 
school,  said: 

.  'Father  Tom,  I  would  remind  you  that  my  soul — if  I 
have  such  a  thing  —  is  my  own,  and  I  am  in  no  danger 
of  losing  it.  Soul-saving  is  not  a  matter  of  business 
with  me,  as  it  is  with  you.  My  profession,  sir,  deals  in 
the  cultivation  of  the  mind,  and  not  the  credulity  of  the 
young  —  and  for  that  matter  the  old,  as  with  you.' 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  123 

'  What,'  said  Tom,  interrupting  him,  '  do  you  mean  to 
say  that  my  holy  profession  is  one  of  humbugging 
people,  old  and  young?' 

'  That  is  just  what  I  mean  to  say.  How  can  it  be 
otherwise,  when  the  church  you  represent  is  based  on 
humbug.  The  Bible  miracles  are  all  fables ;  the  story  ot 
the  incarnation  is  only  a  repetition  of  a  very  old  fable, 
antedating  Christianity  by  thousands  of  years;  indeed 
Christ  is  only  a  myth,  and  his  life  and  deeds  a  tissue  of 
inventions  by  the  so-called  fathers  of  the  church,  and  you 
know  it,  as  well  as  I  do,  Father  Tom ! ' 

'  Do  you  not  believe  in '  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ? ' 
asked  Tom,  who  was  nearly  choked  in  the  endeavor  to 
stifle  his  laughter. 

'Immortality  of  the  soul?  No!  You  may  as  well 
ask  me  if  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  dreams?  And  yet 
there  is  more  reality  in  them  than  in  that.  What  folly ! 
No  one  can  tell  anything  about  it,  and  no  one  in  existence 
can  ever  know.  Immortality  is  a  creature  of  our  selfish 
desires  —  nothing  more ! ' 

'  Then  you're  an  Infidel,'  said  Tom. 

'I  am,'  said  Cluney ;  '  and  I  glory  in  the  fact ! ' 

'  What  would  you  say  if  the  church  should  pronounce 
the  curse  of  excommunication  against  you?'  asked  Tom. 

'  I  should  laugh  at  it !  I  defy  the  Catholic  church,  and 
all  its  devils  in  the  guise  ef  saints !  I  fear  them  not,  and 
glory  in  being  a  man ! ' 

Tom  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and  burst  into 
a  shout  of  uncontrollable  laughter,  and  Leroy,  judging 
that  this  line  of  exhibition  had  gone  far  enough,  pro 
ceeded  to  restore  Cluney  to  his  normal  condition. 

When  he  came  to  his  normal  condition,  Cluney  found 


124  IN  FETTERS: 

himself  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  Tom  Gas- 
ton  rolling  at  his  feet  on  the  carpet,  in  a  fit  of  laughter. 

'What's  the  matter,  Tom,'  he  asked.  'Are  you  sick? 
What  has  happened?' 

Tom,  after  a  while,  gathered  himself  up,  and  —  with  a 
face  reddened  by  extreme  laughter  —  tried  to  explain. 

'  What,'  said  Cluney,  '  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  have 
been  mesmerized?' 

'  That  is  what  you  have  been,'  said  Tom,  who  renewed 
his  laughter. 

'And  what  have  I  been  doing  or  saying  that  was  so 
funny?  '  asked  Cluney.  '  I  remember  nothing.' 

Tom  —  who  had  taken  notes  of  what  he  had  said  — 
described  the  seance  to  him,  and  how  he  had  been 
addressing  him  (Tom)  in  the  belief  that  he  was  his  uncle, 
the  priest,  who  had  come  to  Boston  after  him.  But 
when  Tom  read  what  Cluney  said  about  the  church, 
Bible,  Infidelity  and  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  school 
master  interrupted  him,  with  — 

'Impossible,  Tom — it  is  impossible  that  I  should 
have  used  such  language.'  And  he  appealed  to  the 
professor,  who  confirmed  Tom's  report. 

'  Well,'  said  Cluney,  with  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  his 
eye,  '  the  only  way  I  can  account  for  it  is  my  connection 
with  you  for  the  past  ten  days,  Tom.  You  know  the 
saying:  "Evil  communications  corrupt,"  and  so  forth.' 

Tom,  however,  soon  restored  his  good  humor,  and  to 
give  him  some  amusement  in  turn  for  what  he  had  fur 
nished,  asked  a  few  of  the  boarders  into  the  room  to  see 
the  professor,  who  soon  found  among  them  two  subjects 
whom  he  mesmerized,  and  made  to  perform  some  curious 
and  comical  feats,  such  as  to  mistake  one  another  for 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  125 

persons  of  the  opposite  sex  and  fall  to  love  making,  and 
then  to  have  a  domestic  wrangling  scene. 

These  exhibitions  were  greatly  enjoyed  by  Cluney,  as 
well  as  by  others  present,  and  when,  to  wind  up,  the 
professor  made  both  subjects  deliver  orations  together, 
on  different  subjects,  the  effect  was  truly  comical,  and 
was  a  fitting  wind-up  to  the  evening's  entertainment. 

After  the  professor  had  departed,  Cluney  said: 

'  If  I  were  at  all  inclined  to  superstition,  I  should  say 
that  if  that  man  Leroy  was  not  the  veritable  personal 
devil,  he  was  at  least  a  demon  clothed  in  man's  form.' 

'That  he  is  not,'  said  Tom,  '•  but  he  is  simply  a  sensible, 
honest  man,  who  uses  that  singular  faculty  of  his  to 
make  a  living.  He  was  at  one  time  a  famous  Methodist 
revivalist  preacher ;  but  becoming  convinced  of  the  falsity 
of  Christianity  —  that  is,  the  theological  part  of  it  — 
left  the  ministry  and  a  good  living  to  be  independent. 
He  is  a  remarkable  man.' 

'  I  should  say  he  was,'  rejoined  Cluney. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GASTON    SENIOR    COMES    TO   BOSTON TOM    GASTON    GOES 

TO    EUROPE ON    BOARD     THE    BALTIC. 

The  Monday  following  the  events  narrated  in  the  last 
chapter  passed  without  any  incident  to  Tom  and  Cluney 
worth  noting.  On  Tuesday  it  was  arranged  that  they 
take  a  steamboat  trip  to  Nahant,  where  they  were  to 
have  a  regular  New  England  clam-bake  —  one  of  the 


126  IN  FETTERS: 

very  few  gastronomic  customs  of  the  Indians  which  have 
survived  them. 

Arrived  at  Nahant,  after  a  pleasant  sail,  Cluney 
expressed  a  desire  to  see  how  clams  were  baked,  a  la 
Indian,  and  Tom  took  him  to  the  spot  where  a  fire  had 
already  been  lighted  over  a  number  of  stones,  set  i-n  a 
bowl-like  hollow  in  the  ground.  When  the  fire  had 
nearly  burnt  out,  the  embers  and  ashes'  were  carefully 
swept  away,  and  several  baskets  of  washed  clams  were 
poured  in  on  the  hot  stones,  to  which  a  number  of  ears 
of  corn  in  the  husk  were  added.  The  whole  was  then 
quickly  covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  green  seaweed,  and 
the  pile  left  to  steam  and  cook. 

'  I  have  read  of  clambakes,'  said  Cluney,  '  but  such 
descriptions  were  hardly  realistic  enough  to  satisfy  me  — 
1  wanted  to  see  the  operation  with  my  own  eyes,  and 
now  I  am  satisfied.' 

In  a  short  time  the  clams  were  cooked  and  served,  and 
Cluney  declared  that  he  had  never  enjoyed  any  meal 
like  it  before  in  his  life. 

'  There  is  a  sweetness  about  the  clam  cooked  in  that 
way,  that  I  never  realized  before,'  he  said.  '  The  only 
drawback  to  perfect  enjoyment  is  the  presence  of  sand, 
which  grits  on  the  teeth.' 

'  It  illustrates  anew,'  remarked  Tom,  '  the  truth  that 
there  is  no  bliss  without  its  sand  —  alloy,  I  should  say.' 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  friends  returned 
to  the  city.  Tom  stopped  at  the  office  to  do  some  work, 
and  Cluney  proceeded  up  to  the  boarding  house.  As  he 
entered  the  door,  the  landlady  asked : 

'Where  is  Mr.  Gaston?' 

He  told  her. 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  127 

<A  gentleman — his  father,  I  am  sure,  for  Mr.  Gaston 
is  the  picture  of  him  —  has  been  here  twice,  and  waited 
over  an  hour  the  last  time.  lie  inquired  for  Mr.  Gaston, 
and  seemed  in  a  great  hm-ry  to  see  him.  He  also  asked 
if  you  were  here.' 

'Good  God!'  exclaimed  Cluney.  'I  hope  nothing 
serious  has  happened  at  home.' 

'I  hope  not,'  said  the  landlady,  'though  he  seemed 
much  troubled,  and  nervous-like.  He  said  he  would  call 
again.  Why,  I  declare  —  here  he  comes  up  the  street, 
this  blessed  moment.' 

The  elder  Gaston,  for  such  he  was,  came  up  quickly, 
and,  seeing  Cluney,  his  face  lightened. 

'  Where's  Tom,'  he  asked.  '  I  have  been  looking  for 
him  the  whole  afternoon.' 

Cluney  explained,  and  also  told  him  where  they  had 
been  that  day,  and  of  their  late  return  to  the  city.  Then 
the  father  asked: 

'Has  Richard  been  with  you?' 

'Yes;  and  he  left  about  a  week  ago,  for  Rome.' 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  Tom's  room,  which 
was  fortunate,  for  the  father  sank  limp  into  a  chair,  the 
picture  of  disappointment,  saying: 

'  As  I  feared  —  too  late ! ' 

'What  is  it,  Mr.  Gaston?  Tell  me.  Has  anything 
happened?  Has  — 

But  at  this  juncture  the  door  of  the  room  opened,  and 
Tom  entered.  Recognizing  his  father  at  a  glance,  a 
gleam  of  joy  lighted  his  face,  but,  noticing  his  apparent 
distress,  it  quickly  changed  to  an  expression  of  concern. 
The  father,  seeing  his  son,  rose,  and  both  were  locked  in 
each  other's  arms. 


128  IN  FETTERS: 

'  Father,'  said  Tom,  '  what  has  happened  ?  Has  — 
mother  — 

'  Your  mother  is  well,'  was  the  reply,  '  but,  O,  Tom,  I 
had  hoped  to  find  your  brother  here  and  take  him  home 
with  me.  But,  it  is  too  late! — too  late! ' 

Then  he  explained  what  had  happened  as  already 
narrated.  When  he  had  finished,  Tom  said,  quickly: 

'  Cheer  up,  father !  It  may  not  be  too  late.  In  fact,  I 
feel  a  conviction  that  it  is  not.  I  will  follow  him  in  the 
next  steamer  from  Xew  York,  which  I  believe  sails  on 
Saturday  next.  From  what  Dick  said,  I  think  he  will 
linger  on  the  way,  and  in  that  case  I  can  get  to  Rome 
ahead  of  him.' 

'I  pray  to  God  you  may,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  'for  it 
would  be  a  life-disappointment  to  me  to  have  him 
become  a  priest  under  the  circumstances.' 

'  There  is  little  use  in  regretting  what  cannot  now 
be  helped,  father.  The  best  thing  to  do  now  is  to 
concert  measures  for  the  future.  If  I  remember  rightly, 
the  steamer  Baltic,  of  the  Collins  line,  sails  on  Saturday 
next  from  New  York  to  Liverpool,  and  I  can  go  in  her. 
This  will  give  me  two  days  here  to  settle  my  affairs, 
which  I  can  do  in  that  time.' 

'What  affairs,  Tom?'  asked  the  father. 

Then  Tom  explained  to  him  about  his  connection  with 
the  daily  Times,  and  what  he  had  been  doing  in  the  way 
of  journalism. 

'  So,'  he  said,  '  that  accounts  for  your  independence  in 
money  matters.  Well,  Tom,  I  am  rather  pleased  to  find 
you  forging  ahead  for  yourself  in  this  manner,  though,  as 
you  know,  I  would  have  honored  any  request  of  yours 
for  money,  at  any  time.' 


TBE    MAK    OK    THE    PRIEST?  129 

'  I  know  that,  father,  and  also  that  you  could  afford  to 
let  me  have  it.  But  I  wanted  to  be  the  young  bird  who 
could  fly  of  its  own  unaided  strength,  rather  than  depend 
on  the  old  one  for  sustenance,  especially  as  I  will  have 
to  do  it  sooner  or  later,  in  any  event.' 

'It  is  a  good  spirit,  and  I  like  it  in  you,  Tom.  But  do 
you  know  that  we  have  had  the  impression  at  home  that 
you  were  a  sad,  free-thinking  radical.' 

'Well,  father,  suppose  I  am?  I  am  honest  about  it. 
I  am  perhaps  imprudent  in  being  outspoken  in  my  views. 
But,'  and  Tom  looked  roguishly  at  Cluney,  '  when  you 
come  to  dissect  what  I  say,  it  is  no  worse  than  Master 
Cluney  has  given  expression  to  in  my  presence.' 

Cluney  colored  up,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  Tom 
turned  off  th*  point  of  his  remark,  by  adding  — 

'But,  then,  he  was  only  quoting  one  of  the  unbelievers 
as  a  warning  to  me — that  is,  to  give  me  an  idea  how 
such  things  would  strike  me  if  put  into  language ;  and  I 
must  allow,  they  did  strike  me  as  rather  peculiar  —  at 
least  coming  from  him.' 

'  Well,  Tom,  the  offence  is  not  a  serious  one  with  me. 
I  was  inclined  to  free  thinking  at  one  time  myself.' 

4 1  judge  yon  were,  father,  though  I  never  mentioned 
it  before:  for  amonsj  the  books  I  now  have  are  two  of 

'  O 

yours  which  I  picked  up  in  an  old  chest  in  the  garret. 
One  is  Paine's  "Age  of  Reason,"  and  the  other  is 
Voltaire's  "  History  of  the  Manners  and  Spirit  of 
Nations."  I  know  they  were  yours  at  one  time,  for  your 
name  is  written  in  each  book.' 

'  That  is  not  my  writing,  Tom.  It  is  your  grandfather's. 
His  name  was  Richard,  also.' 

'I  might  have  thought  of  that,'  rejoined  Tom.    'Well, 


130  IN   FETTERS! 

it  shows   that   I    come    honestly   by   my   free-thinking 
propensities,  at  least.' 

'  I  suppose  it  runs  in  the  blood,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  '  for 
my  father  was  a  free-thinker  and  an  active  participant  — 
he  was  young  then  —  in  the  scenes  of  the  French  Revo 
lution  of  1789.  His  leaving  France,  when  Bonaparte 
became  First  Consul,  is  the  subject  of  a  story  in  itself, 
and  I  will  tell  it  to  you  some  time  or  other  —  when  you 
come  home.' 

'  I  would  like  to  hear  it,'  said  Tom.  '  But  now  to  the 
business  in  hand.  One  of  the  first  things  I  shall  do  in 
the  morning  will  be  to  see  Dr.  Bigelow  of  the  Medical 
School,  and  tell  him  why  I  must  be  absent.  I  know  he 
will  fix  everything  smooth  for  me.' 

'That  is  right,  Tom.  Do  not  miss  taking  your 
professional  degree,'  said  the  father. 

'Then,'  continued  Tom,  'I  will  arrange  with  Mr. 
Roberts  to  get  some  one  in  my  place ;  and  will  console 
him  for  my  loss  by  promising  to  write  a  series  of  letters 
to  the  paper  from  different  points  of  interest  in  Europe. 
Such  letters  of  foreign  travel  are  now  in  great  favor 
here.' 

'I  shall  go  on  to  New  York  with  you,  Tom,'  said  the 
elder  Gaston.  '  I  have  some  business  to  transact  there, 
and  can  do  it  after  seeing  you  off.' 

'  And,  as  I  am  going  to  Saratoga,'  said  Cluney,  '  I  will 
go  along  with  you  as  far  as  New  York,  also.' 

'  Do  you  know  what  I  propose  to  do  ? '  said  Tom. 

'  What  is  it  ? ' 

'It  is  to  get  a  French  grammar,  and  French- English 
dictionary,  and  study  the  language  on  my  way  across  to 
Europe.' 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PKIEST?  131 

'The  idea  is  not  a  bad  one,'  replied  the  father,  'but 
reading  and  speaking  French  are  two  different  things. 
I  could  speak  it  when  young,  and  can  yet,  but  my 
tongue  has  grown  out  of  it,  so  to  speak.  I  have  lost  the 
pure  accent.  However,  while  I  am  with  you,  I  can  give 
you  some  hints  in  regard  to  pronunciation.' 

'  I  can  read  French  easily,'  remarked  Cluney,  '  and 
even  old  French,  for  I  have  read  Rebelais  in  that 
language.  But  as  to  speaking  French,  I  would  despair 
to  attempt  it  with  the  hope  of  making  myself  understood 
by  a  Frenchman.' 

4  Nevertheless,'  replied  Tom,  '  I  will  make  the  attempt. 
I  can  only  fail.  But,'  he  added,  confidently,  'I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  do ! ' 

The  two  following  days  were  spent  by  Tom  in  arrang 
ing  his  affairs  in  Boston  to  his  satisfaction.  When  Dr. 
Bigelow  understood  the  nature  of  his  sudden  call  to  go 
to  Europe,  he  entered  heartily  into  the  business  of 
making  everything  smooth  for  the  young  man. 

'  You  are  one  of  the  ablest  men  in  the  class,'  he  said, 
'and  the  profession  must  not  lose  you.  I  will  give  you 
a  letter  to  Dr.  Blank,  of  London,  —  of  whom  you  have 
read  —  and  I  know  he  will  treat  you  well.  I  sincerely 
hope  you  will  succeed  in  rescuing  your  brother  from  a 
church  life.  It  is,  so  far  as  human  ties  go,  a  kind  of 
living  death.' 

With  George  Roberts,  of  the  Times,  Tom  made  a 
satisfactory  arrangement.  'I  am  very  sorry  to  lose 
you,'  he  said,  'but,  of  course,  you  can  do  nothing  less 
than  follow  your  brother,  and  prevent  his  becoming  a 
priest.  I  know,  however,  that  we  will  have  a  compen 
sation  in  the  letters  you'll  write.  Make  them  as  practical 


132  IN  FETTERS: 

as  possible,  and  abounding  with  just  the  information 
which  you  would  like  to  find  in  letters  from  abroad.  I 
will  give  you  one  or  two  letters  of  introduction  to 
gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance  in  London  and  Paris,  and 
also,  a  certificate  that  you  are  the  special  European  cor 
respondent  of  the  Times.  Such  a  document  will  no 
doubt  aid  you  under  certain  conditions.  At  any  rate,  it 
will  not  injure  you  if  found  on  your  person.' 

Cluney,  on  his  part,  was  not  idle.  He  went  to  Bishop 
Fitzpatrick,  and  told  him  of  the  peculiar  matters  connec 
ted  with  young  Gaston's  choice  of  a  priest's  life.  When 
the  bishop  heard  the  story,  he  said: 

'Mr.  Cluney,  if  I  had  known  these  facts  when  the 
young  man  was  here,  I  would  have  strongly  advised  him 
against  taking  holy  orders.  Such  men  as  he  are  not  fit 
for  the  priesthood.  However,  I  will  give  you,  for  his 
brother,  a  letter  to  the  head  of  the  Propaganda  in  Rome, 
and  would  advise  that  young  man  to  make  all  haste  in  its 
delivery.' 

On  Friday  niorning,  all  things  being  arranged,  the 
elder  Gaston,  Cluney,  and  Tom  left  Boston  en  route  for 
New  York. 

There  had  been  a  good  rain  during  the  preceding  night 

but  it  had  cleared  off,  and  a  bracing  west  wind a  pre- 

curser  of  the  September  ones  —  had  set  in.  Riding  in  a 
railway  carriage  was  then  a  luxury,  though,  of  course,  the 
coaches  were  nothing  like  what  they  are  today.  Chair 
cars,  parlor  cars,  and  sleepers,  were  then  unthought  of, 
and  people  who  traveled  by  night  had  to  get  along  as 
best  they  could,  taking  '  cat-naps '  from  time  to  time. 
Hence,  most  people  preferred  traveling  by  daylight. 

The  elder  Gaston  and  Cluney  had  ridden  on  English 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  133 

railways,  but  both  agreed  that  the  American  coach  was 
more  convenient,  and  certainly  more  democratic. 

The  party,  after  a  most  enjoyable  ride,  arrived  in  New 
York  in  the  evening,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  Astor 
House,  on  lower  Broadway.  This  was,  at  the  time,  the 
leading  commercial  hotel  of  the  city. 

It  was  quickly  ascertained  that  the  great  steamer 
Baltic,  which  had  already  made  the  fastest  time  between 
lands  —  some  ten  days  —  that  had  yet  been  achieved  by 
ocean  steamship,  would  sail  at  noon  on  the  following  day, 
Saturday. 

Passage  and  stateroom  were  at  once  secured,  and  Tom 
learned  some  facts  in  regard  to  the  necessity  of  having 
passports  while  traveling  in  Europe  —  he  did  not  need 
them  in  England — so  he  obtained  an  American  passport. 

On  Saturday,  when  the  banks  were  open,  Mr.  Gaston 
obtained  an  amount  of  sterling  exchange  which  he 
thought  his  son  might  need  for  expenses  in  Europe;  and 
then,  to  make  sure  he  would  not  lack  for  means,  gave 
him  also  a  letter  of  credit  to  a  well  known  banking  firm 
in  London. 

In  his  hasty  preparations  for  the  voyage,  Tom  thought 
it  best  not  to  load  himself  down  with  luggage ;  so  he 
took  only  a  small  leather  trunk,  with  one  change  of 
clothing,  a  light  overcoat,  and  some  white  shirts. 

An  hour  before  noon,  the  party,  with  Tom's  modest 
trunk,  left  the  hotel  in  a  carriage,  and  were  soon  at  the 
pier,  where  the  Baltic  was  lying.  After  seeing  that  his 
trunk  was  carried  to  his  stateroom,  and  taking  possession 
of  the  latter,  the  time  remaining  before  the  steamer  cast 
loose  from  the  pier  was  occupied  by  Mr.  Gaston  in  giving 
instructions  to  his  son  with  regard  to  his  mission. 


134  IN   FETTEES: 

'  Here  is  a  letter  for  Richard,'  he  said,  '  which  1  hope 
you  can  deliver  to  him.  But,  if  it  is  too  late  to  intercept 
him,  and  he  has  already  been  ordained,  do  not  give  it  to 
him.  If  that  thing  has  unfortunately  taken  place,  it  is, 
of  course,  best  that  he  should  know  nothing  about  the 
matter.  We  must  make  the  best  of  it.' 

'  I  don't  want  to  think  of  such  a  possibility  as  my 
being  too  late  to  intercept  him ;  but,  if  I  am,  then,  of 
course,  he  must  not  know  what  has  happened ;  and  it 
will  puzzle  me  to  explain  to  him  why  I  have  followed 
him  to  Rome.  But  I  guess  I  can  frame  a  plausible 
excuse.  One  thing  should  be  understood,  and  that  is,  if 
he  has  become  a  priest,  it  is  best  he  should  never  know 
how  near  he  has  been  to  happiness,  and  missed  it.  Home 
gossip,  if  there  be  any,  should  be  silenced.' 

'I  will  look  out  for  that,  Tom.  Be  sure  and  write 
when  you  arrive  in  Liverpool;  then,  when  you  get  to 
London  ;  and  finally,  when  you  reach  Rome.  It  is  right 
that  we  should  know  the  worst,  if  such  it  be  —  But, 
in  the  meantime,  we  will  hope  for  the  best.' 

'  That  is  right,  father.  There  is  no  philosophy  in 
anticipating  trouble.' 

The  bell  of  the  steamship,  warning  those  who  were 
seeing  their  friends  off,  now  began  to  ring. 

Embracing  his  father,  and  bidding  his  friend  Cluney 
good-bye,  Thomas  Gaston  accompanied  them  to  the 
gangway,  and  watched  them  standing  on  the  pier,  waving 
him  adieu,  until  the  ship  was  well  down  the  bay. 

Then  he  turned  and  enjoyed  the  views  on  the  Jersey 
shore  —  not  very  picturesque,  on  account  of  the  flat  lands; 
on  Staten  and  Long  Islands,  and  then  up  the  North  River, 
which  was  crowded  with  craft  of  all  kind,  from  the 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PKIEST  ?  135 

swift-moving  steam  tugs  to  the  slow-going  canal  boats 
and  lighters.  Behind  was  an  animated  scene,  as  he  saw 
it  in  vista  through  the  Narrows.  Before,  the  vast  ocean 
upon  which  he  was  about  to  enter,  and  on  whose  unstable 
bosom  he  was  to  be  tossed  about  for  the  next  ten  or 
twelve  days.  The  thought  was  not  a  cheering  one,  but, 
as  he  was  on  a  mission  of  brotherly  love,  the  hope  that  it 
would  be  successful,  buoyed  him ;  besides  he  was  not 
one  to  mope  and  brood  over  things  which  could  not  be 
amended  by  such  actions. 

After  entering  upon  the  ocean,  and  viewing  for  a 
short  time  the  opening  lines  of  coast  on  the  Jersey  and 
Long  Island  shores,  young  Gaston  began  to  take  some 
interest  in  his  immediate  surroundings — to  look  over 
the  ship  he  was  in,  in  fact. 

The  Baltic  was  then  one  of  the  largest  transatlantic 
steamers,  being  3200  tons  burden,  and  would  not  be  small 
compared  with  some  of  the  steamers  of  the  present  day. 
She  was  nearly  300  feet  in  length,  and  nearly  50  feet  in 
width,  with  a  depth  of  hold  of  over  30  feet.  She  was  a 
side-wheel  steamer,  the  diameter  of  her  huge  wheels 
being  36  feet,  and  the  length  of  their  floats  over  12  feet. 
Her  engines  were  very  powerful,  and  she  appeared  to 
make  rapid  headway  in  the  water.  This  huge  vessel  — 
the  largest  young  Gaston  had  ever  seen  —  interested  him 
greatly,  and  he  soon,  by  inquiry,  learned  all  about  her 
internal  arrangements,  especially  her  huge  propelling 
machinery,  the  operation  of  which  he  watched  for  some 
time  with  great  interest. 

When  dinner  was  announced,  young  Gaston  repaired, 
with  others,  to  the  spacious  dining  saloon,  which, 
however,  was  not  well  filled,  as  the  passenger  list  of  the 


136  IN   FETTEKS: 

steamer  was  not  a  full  one,  travel  to  Europe  being  light. 

At  the  table  he  was  given  a  seat  next  to  a  gentleman 
of  rather  large  physique,  a  fine  and  even  noble 
countenance,  who  in  the  course  of  the  meal  opened  a 
pleasant  conversation,  in  fluent  English,  with,  young 
Gaston  thought,  a  slight  foreign  accent,  but  whether  he 
was  French  or  German,  he  could  not  decide.  The 
gentleman  was  polite  and  courteous  enough  to  be  a 
Frenchman,  but  he  looked  more  like  a  German,  with  his 
broad  face,  high  forehead,  gray  eyes,  and  heavy 
moustache.  His  age  might  be  about  fifty.  He  was  as 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  any  one  who  had  seen  the 
soldiers  of  Europe  would  have  placed  him  at  once  in  the 
military  profession.  But  the  young  man  was  inexperi 
enced  in  this  respect,  and  was  puzzled  where  to  place 
him.  After  a  few  polite  commonplaces,  he  asked : 

« Is  this  your  first  visit  to  Europe  ? ' 

'  It  is,  sir ;  and  as  it  is  taken  unexpectedly,  it  finds  me 
at  the  disadvantage  of  going  unprepared  so  far  as  any 
knowledge  of  the  French  language  is  concerned,  which 
will  be  inconvenient,  as  I  shall  have  to  travel  on  the 
Continent.' 

'That  is  a  drawback;  but  not  without  remedy.  You 
will  find  couriers  —  persons  who  can  speak  all  the 
European  languages  fluently  —  whose  services  can  be 
obtained  for  a  consideration.' 

'I  presume  so,'  said  Gaston,  'but,  do  you  know,  I  have 
cherished  the  idea — wild  it  is,  no  doubt — -of  gathering 
enough  of  the  French  language,  during  the  voyage,  to 
get  along  without  such  aid.' 

The  gentleman  smiled,  and  said:  'If  you  could 
acquire  such  a  knowledge  of  French  as  you  aim  at  in 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PKIEST?  137 

two  weeks,  you  would  certainly  be  a  phenomenal  man.' 

'  I  am  quick  to  learn,'  said  Tom,  '  but  I  am  aware  that 
I  shall  have  a  great  difficulty  in  the  matter  of  pronun 
ciation.  My  father,  on  the  way  from  Boston  to  New 
York,  sought  to  give  me  an  idea  of  the  pronunciation  of 
several  of  the  colloquial  words  used  by  inquirers,  and  I 
caught  the  accent  quite  well,  he  thought,  though  he  had 
himself  been  long  out  of  practice  in  the  habitual  use  of 
the  language.' 

'Is  your  father  French?'  inquired  the  gentleman. 

*  I  may  say  he  is,  though  he  was  born  in  England, 
and  his  mother  was  of  that  country.  •  His  father  was  a 
Frenchman,  but  left  France  after  Napoleon  became  First 
Consul.  I  never  heard  the  story  in  regard  to  it.' 

'What  was  your  grandfather's  name,  if  I  may  be 
excused  for  asking  it  ? ' 

'  Richard  Gaston.' 

'  The  name  is  Norman  French,  certainly,'  remarked 
the  gentleman.  Then  he  said:  'You  have  chosen  a 
fortunate  period  for  your  visit,  for  Europe  is  now  in  a 
state  of  profound  tranquility,  though  how  long  this  will 
last  is  uncertain,  for  the  elements  of  future  contention 
are  not  lacking  in  plenty.' 

'I  am  glad  of  it,'  returned  the  young  man,  'for  1 
desire  to  reach  my  destination  as  quickly  as  possible, 
though  afterwards  I  may  take  occasion  to  visit  many 
famous  places  on  the  Continent  other  than  the  one  I  am 
going  to,  namely,  Rome.' 

'Well,'  remarked  the  gentleman,  'if  your  tour  is 
extended  in  certain  directions  on  the  Continent,  you  will 
meet  evidences  of  the  ravages  of  civil  war.  You  will 
see  cities  scarred  and  mutilated  by  shot  and  shell; 


138  IN   FETTEKS: 

exploded  fortresses  in  ruins;  private  dwellings  and 
palaces  burned,  and  entire  streets,  in  some  of  the  cities, 
with  nothing  remaining  but  smoked  and  tottering  walls. 
You  will  see  some  of  the  evidences  of  military  and  siege 
operations  at  Rome  and  its  vicinity.  You  will  find 
everything  quiet,  but  it  is  the  repressive  calm  of  military 
rule ;  for  the  bayonet  and  the  musket,  the  sabre  and  the 
connon,  in  the  hands  of  legions  of  soldiers,  hold  the 
people  in  check — for  how  long,  no  one  can  predict.' 

'Europe,'  said  Tom,  'is  a  wonderful  country  in  science 
and  art,  and  I  have  often  longed  to  visit  it,  without  the 
hope  of  having  ari  early  opportunity  of  doing  so.  And 
even  now  I  can  scarcely  realize  that  I  am  going  there.' 

'In  Europe,'  remarked  the  gentleman,  'you  will  find  a 
country  far  different  from  America.  There  art — includ 
ing  that  of  war — is  everything,  and  man  is  as  nothing.' 

At  the  close  of  the  meal,  young  Gaston  sought  the 
upper  deck.  The  evening  was  bright  and  calm,  the 
ocean  smooth,  with  only  the  regular  heaving  swell,  which 
is  never  absent  from  it.  Thomas  Gaston  stood  leaning 
against  the  rail  of  the  ship,  and  taking  in  the  scene,  when 
a  voice  at  his  side  remarked  : 

'  This  is  one  of  the  rare  occurrences  at  sea,  and  one  not 
to  be  forgotten.' 

Tom  turned,  and  the  friendly  stranger  of  the  dinner 
table  stood  beside  him.  '  Pardon  me,'  said  the  gentle 
man,  'for  omitting  to  give  you  my  name  at  the  table,  in 
return  for  yours.  At  present,  I  choose  to  be  known  as 
Warfield,  and  by  that  name  you  can  address  me.  I  say 
this  because  we  are  fellow-passengers,  and  I  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  you ;  and  —  pardon  me,  if  I  am  intrusive  — 
have  determined  to  aid  you  in  your  study  of  the  French 


THE    MAN    Oil    THE    PlllEST?  139 

language,  which,  fortunately,  I  can  speak  with  some 
fluency.' 

'  I  thank  you  for  your  interest,  in  me,'  replied  the 
young  man,  '  and  will  accept  your  offer  gladly.' 

'  Well,'  said  Warfield,  '  as  this  is  so  fine  an  evening, 
and  we  may  not  have  another  like  it  during  the  voyage, 
suppose  we  do  nothing  about  the  lessons,  but  talk  of 
anything  else  you  please.  What  subjects  are  you  most 
interested  in?' 

'Religion,  free  thought,  and  the  physical  sciences.' 

Then  Tom  gave  the  stranger  a  frank  account  of  him 
self,  of  his  medical  studies,  of  his  doubts  regarding 
revealed  religion,  and  other  things  pertaining  to  his 
peculiar  views,  with  which  the  reader  is  already 
acquainted.  The  stranger  heard  him  with  a  sympathetic 
interest,  and,  when  he  had  finished,  remarked: 

'My  dear  sir,  you  have,  without  perhaps  being  aware  of 
it,  caught  the  spirit  of  free  thought  and  free  inquiry, 
which  is  becoming  more  and  more  widespread  as  the 
years  roll  on.  It  is  the  spirit  which  is  destined,  in  the 
fullness  of  time,  to  emancipate  the  human  race  from  the 
thraldom  of  superstition,  of  ecclesiastical  authority  —  of 
perhaps  all  authority,  as  now  constituted.  But  its  work 
will  be  realized  slowly,  very  slowly.  The  masses  are  not 
prepared  for  it.  They  still  cling  to  their  idols.  When 
you  are  a  gray-haired  man,  if  you  live  as  long,  you  will 
perhaps  almost  fail  to  see  any  perceptible  progress  in  the 
direction  you  are  tending.  But  there  will  be  progress, 
nevertheless.  One  powerful  element  in  the  change, 
which  is  inevitable,  will  be  the  development  of  the  exact 
sciences.  There  is  a  natural  order  for  all  changes  in  the 
physical  world,  and  in  the  mental  or  intellectual  as  well.' 


140  IN  FETTERS: 

'You  think,  then,  that  it  is  only  a  question  of  time 
when  these  changes  will  be  brought  about?'  queried 
Tom. 

'Undoubtedly,'  replied  Warfield.  'It  is  in  the  line 
of  evolution,  and  thus  in  harmony  with  the  great  and 
immutable  law  of  change,  which  pervades  the  universe.' 

'Do  advanced  scientists  believe  in  a  special  creation, 
like  that  related  in  the  Hebrew  book  of  Genesis  ? '  asked 
Tom. 

'  Not  at  all.  That  is  simply  the  accounting  of  ignor 
ance  for  the  result  of  phenomena  which  it  had  no 
right  conception  of.' 

'Has  not  man  come  up  from  lower  conditions  of  life?' 
asked  Tom. 

'I  do  not  doubt  it.  The  simple  cell  is  the  unit  of  all 
organic  structure,  and  is  substantially  the  same  in  the 
embryo  of  the  plant  as  in  that  of  the  animal.  The  won 
derful  development  of  organic  structure  that  we  now  see 
is  no  doubt  due  entirely  to  the  conditions  under  which  it 
has  grown,  from  the  crudest  beginnings  to  its  present 
proportions.  Man,  for  example,  is  a  culmination  of  per 
haps  millions  of  metamorphoses  from  the  primal  cell.' 

'  This  earth  was  at  one  time  unfitted  for  animate  life, 
by  reason  of  internal  heat,  was  it  not?'  asked  Tom. 

'It  was.  In  fact  there  was  a  period  in  its  existence, 
after  it  separated  from  its  parent  nebulous  mass,  now 
condensed  into  what  we  call  the  sun,  when  it  was  a  huge 
ball  of  liquid  incandescence,  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
miles  in  diameter — a  vast  mass  of  flaming  hydrogen, 
sporting  in  the  ethereal  fields  of  the  universe  with  its 
oxygen  and  other  gaseous  affinities,  and  giving  birth 
to  the  varied  and  wonderful  products  which  we  behold 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  141 

in  the  solid  and  liquid  matters  of  our  earth.  Organic 
life  is  only  one  of  the  phases  of  productive  development 
that  is  going  on,  not  only  on  our  earth,  but  throughout 
the  universe.' 

'Then  life  and  death  are  simply  parts  of  the  general 
phenomena  of  change?'  remarked  Tom. 

'Precisely;  and  life  and  death  are  not  confined  to 
organic  beings  on  earth  alone,  but  are  phenomena  of  the 
universal  law  of  evolution,  to  which  all  things,  even  the 
stars  themselves,  are  subject.  Though  in  the  brief  period 
of  human  existence,  these  heavenly  bodies  may  appear  to 
be  unchanging,  immutable,  eternal,  each  and  all  had  a 
beginning,  and  each  and  all  will  have  an  end.' 

'I  have  read  Sir  William  Herschel's-  account  of  the 
great  nebulas.  From  these,  then,  it  is  supposed  that  all 
worlds  and  planetary  systems  are  derived,  is  it  not?' 
asked  Tom. 

'  Yes ;  these  are  undoubtedly  the  laboratories  in  which 
worlds  and  world  systems  are  formed.  Here  we  have 
the  materials  out  of  which  the  wonders  of  creation  are 
moulded,  in  their  most  plastic  condition.  From  such 
mobile  masses  have  our  own  solar  system,  and  others  of 
a  like  nature,  been  envolved.  Laplace,  that  wonderful 
Frenchman,  was  the  first  to  assert  that  hypothesis,  which 
has  become  an  accepted  theory  with  many  of  our  most 
eminent  scientists,  and  is  now  generally  accepted  by 
the  scientific  world. 

'  According  to  Laplace's  hypothesis,  our  sun,  for 
example,  in  the  remote  past,  was  a  vast  nebular  spot,  of 
high  temperature,  revolving  on  its  axis ;  and,  at  length, 
in  consequence  of  continuous  loss  of  heat,  the  matter  of 
the  mass  became  more  and  more  compressed.  That,  in 


142  m  FETTERS: 

accordance  with  prescribed  mechanical  laws,  a  free- 
floating  ring  separated  itself  from  the  nebular  mass  in 
the  region  of  the  equator. 

'  The  cooling  being  continuous,  and  the  condensation 
of  the  surface-matter  keeping  pace  with  it,  the  ring- 
formation  would,  in  due  course,  repeat  itself,  all  rings 
working  from  west  to  east  around  the  central  mass,  in 
harmony  with  the  direction  of  the  revolution  of  the 
latter.  The  persistence  of  these  rings  would  depend  on 
their  perfect  uniformity  in  structure  and  condensation, 
which  is  very  unlikely ;  consequently  they  break  up,  and 
being  still  fluid  assume  globular  forms.  These  glowing 
nebular  globes  then  become  planets,  revolving  round  the 
sun,  from  which  they  are  thrown  off.  The  larger 
planets  go  through  the  same  course,  throwing  off  rings, 
which  break  up  into  satellites.' 

'  And  an  end  must  come  to  even  stars  and  worlds,' 
reflected  Tom. 

4  Yes,'  said  Warfield,  '  an  end  will  inevitably  come  to 
all ;  but  it  will  be  individual  extinction.  The  same 
creative  principle  must  continue,  and  as  old  systems  die 
out  new  ones  come  in.  The  systems  will  die  first  in 
their  smaller  members,  however,  the  central  masses  or  suns 
surviving  longer.  The  reason  is  that  the  smaller  masses 
radiate  their  heat  energy  quickest,  this  heat  being 
produced  as  a  consequence  of  their  formation.  And 
when  it  has  finally  disappeared,  they  will  no  doubt  be 
resolved  into  formless  cosmic  dust,  fitted  for  the  work  of 
re-creation  by  collection  into  nebulous  bodies.' 

'Life,  of  course,  is  inseparable  from  heat?'  suggested 
Tom. 

'  Yes  —  life  is  but  one  of  the  expressions  of  that  energy 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  143 

which  is  manifested  in  heat  and  motion.  Our  atmos 
phere  and  its  gaseous  contents  are  peculiar  forms  of  heat 
or  heat-matter.  When  this  heat  ceases,  what  we  call 
cold — which  is  simply  the  absence  of  heat  or  heat- 
energy —  succeeds.  When  the  heat  inherent  in  our  atmos 
phere  can  no  longer  receive  reinforcement  from  internal 
sources,  the  gases  composing  it  will  solidify,  and  the  earth 
—  as  our  moon  did  millions  of  years  ago  —  will  lose  its 
last  vestige  of  vitality;  light  will  no  longer  illumine  its 
surroundings,  and  it  will  wander  blind  and  rayless  for 
other  millions  of  years,  until  the  great  heart  of  our 
system — the  sun  — ceases  to  beat,  and  then  dissolution 
will  set  in,  and  the  "wreck  of  matter  and  crush  of 
worlds  "  will  be  realized.' 

The  conversation  ceased  for  a  few  minutes,  and  both 
Gaston  and  his  interesting  new  acquaintance  seemed  to 
be  buried  in  thought.  At  last  Tom  broke  the  silence : 

'Mr.  Warfield,'  he  said,  'I  hope  you  will  pardon  me 
for  persisting  in  asking  you,  who  appear  to  be  a  master 
in  the  sciences,  a  question  or  two  regarding  the  origin  of 
the  various  species  of  animals  which  have  inhabited, 
or  that  still  inhabit  the  earth.  Where,  in  your  opinion, 
did  organic  life  begin  on  the  earth?' 

'I  will  give  you  my  opinion,  for  what  it  is  worth. 
We  now  know  that  the  coldest  sections  of  our  globe  are 
at  the  poles.  Without  holding  that  the  exact  position 
of  the  poles  has  not  changed,  it  will  be  enough  for  me 
to  say  that  when  the  cooling  of  the  incandescent  mass 
of  our  globe  had  begun,  it  was  evidently  at  the  poles. 
The  condensation  of  the  vapor  resulting  from  combustion 
must  have  there  produced  the  liquid  combination  of  the 
two  representative  elements  of  heat  and  motion,  and 


144  IN  FETTERS: 

consequently  life  on  the  earth — hydrogen  and  oxygen — • 
and  as  a  result  we  had  water,  the  great  menstruum  in 
which  organic  life  had  its  inception.  Therefore,  while 
the  equatorial  regions  of  the  earth  were  still  unfitted  for 
organic  life,  the  polar  regions  became  the  nurseries  for 
the  cruder  and  simpler  organisms  which  preceded  what 
we  may  call  the  higher  and  more  complex  ones.  On 
such  an  hypothesis,  therefore,  we  may  conclude  that 
organic  forms  originated  at  the  poles,  and  will  end  at  the 
equator,  being  driven  thither  by  the  encroachment  of 
polar  cold,  as  the  earth  loses  its  heat,  and  the  sun  fails 
to  contribute  enough  of  it  to  prevent  such  radical  climatic 
changes.' 

'Then,'  said  Tom,  'there  was  an  origin  in  the  creative 
processes  of  the  earth  that  was  crude  and  simple. 
Could  such  processes  be  originated  under  conditions 
which  now  exist  on  the  earth?' 

'  No,  indeed,'  replied  Warfield.  '  That  would  be 
manifestly  unlikely.  Organic  life  —  which  is,  after  all, 
when  rightly  considered,  a  chemical  process — must  have 
had  its  beginning  in  conditions  which  originated,  first, 
vegetative  existence,  that  was  attached  to  its  surround 
ings;  and,  secondly,  mobile  or  animal  existence,  that 
had  the  power  to  change  or  move  about  in  its  environ 
ment,  first  by  instinctive  or  uneasy  impulse,  and,  secondly, 
by  force  of  will,  which  was  brought  into  existence  by  the 
crudest  form  of  reasoning.  The  reasoning  power,  thus 
developed — being  called  for  more  and  more,  as  other 
organs  of  the  animal  were  demanded  by  the  necessities 
of  movement,  aggression,  and  appropriation  —  the  brain, 
in  its  way,  kept  pace  with  animal  development;  until 
from  the  cruder  forms  more  complex  ones  were  evolved. 


THE    MAN   OK   THE    PKIEST  ?  145 

'  Now,  as  organic  life  had  its  crude  beginnings  in  the 
cruder  conditions  of  the  creative  processes  of  our  globe, 
and  as  these  conditions  have  given  place  to  others 
which  are  rather  sustaining  than  originative ;  developing 
more  than  formative;  1  cannot  see  how  the  conditions 
for  original  creative  processes  could  now  exist,  or,  in 
other  words,  that  the  strains  of  creation,  which  have  cul 
minated  in  man,  the  superior  or  the  lower  animals,  could 
now  be  originated,  any  more  than  that  the  life-sustaining 
faculty  could  be  restored  to  the  moon  —  a  thing  which  I 
believe  it  once  possessed. 

'  No,  no !  The  law  of  change,  which  is  ever-persisting, 
can  not  tolerate  a  return  to  crude  conditions  or  processes, 
after  the  necessity  for  these  have  passed  away.  This 
arises  from  the  consistent  and  sequential  operation  of  the 
immutable  law  of  change,  which  can  not  because  it 
should  not  go  backward,  for  the  harmony  of  the  universe 
evidently  calls  for  progression  in  all  its  parts  while  the 
impelling  energy  endures.' 

'  Then  all  things  and  conditions  are  the  result  of  these 
great  laws,  even  human  slavery,'  ventured  Tom. 

'  Yes,  they  are  ;  and  the  growing  desire  on  the  part  of 
the  people  of  a  portion  of  the  United  States  to  get  rid 
of  slavery  is  just  as  natural ;  that  is,  the  sentiment  of 
abhorrence  is  necessary  to  arouse  the  action  required  to 
be  taken  to  get  rid  of  what  is  now  regarded  as  a  social 
evil,  though  at  one  time  it  was  looked  at  as  a  social 
necessity.  This  is  in  the  line  of  psychological  and  moral 
development.  All  thoughts,  and  impulses  .arising  from 
them,  therefore,  are  only  the  effects  of  the  operation  of 
the  law  of  change  —  and  change  alone  can  endure;  it, 
alone,  so  far  as  we  know,  is  eternal ! ' 


146  IN  FETTERS: 

'If  I  understand  you  rightly,'  said  the  young  man, 
'  our  faculties  have  originated  from  the  necessities  of  our 
environment.  How  do  you  account  for  the  growth  of 
the  superior  faculties,  which  are  not  directly  necessary  to 
our  wants?' 

'Nature,'  replied  Warfield,  'if  I  may  use  that  term  to 
express  existence  and  development,  is  not  only  responsive 
but  it  is  even  generous  to  our  needs,  and  even  to  the 
desires  which  grow  out  of  them.  Faculties  are,  I  may 
say,  invented  to  meet  the  wishes  as  well  as  the  necessi 
ties  of  existence.  The  keen  eyesight  and  hearing  of  the 
Indian,  as  well  as  the  wonderful  power  of  scent  in  the 
dog,  are  evidences  of  response  to  needs;  while  the 
marvellous  faculties  of  the  brain  —  the  power  of  abstract 
contemplation  and  reasoning  —  are  evidences  equally  as 
strong  in  the  higher  direction.' 

Twilight  had  come  while  the  conversation  recorded 
was  being  held,  and  its  shades  deepened  into  night. 
The  huge  steamer  forged  its  way  through  a  wavy  field 
of  liquid  glass,  as  it  seemed,  leaving  behind  an  angry 
wake  of  boiling  surges,  which,  however,  were  lighted  up 
by  corruscating  flashes  of  a  phosphorescent  character,  so 
frequent  and  so  general  as  to  produce  a  luminous  trail, 
that  grew  broader  and  fainter  in  the  distance.  The 
firmament  above  and  around  was  studded  with  stars, 
bright,  beautiful,  and,  to  such  minds  as  those  of  the  two 
voyagers  whose  conversation  we  have  been  listening  to, 
must  have  teen  suggestive  of  profound  reflections. 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation.  Both  appeared 
to  be  engaged  in  drawing  inspiration — in  taking  in 
draughts  of  ethereal  delight — from  the  matchless  scene. 
The  silence  of  rapt  contemplation  prevailed  for  nearly 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PKIEST?  147 

half  an  hour,  neither  appearing  willing  to  break  the 
spell. 

Then  the  striking  of  the  steamer's  bell,  and  the  call  of 
the  watch  came  in  like  a  discord,  and  the  glamor  faded. 
But  the  witchery  of  the  scene  had  impressed  itself  on 
the  minds  of  the  voyagers,  and  Warfield  broke  the 
silence  by  remarking,  in  precisely  the  same  words  that 
young  Gaston  was  about  to  employ :  '  How  beautiful ! 
How  grand !  How  inspiring ! ' 

'Yes,'  replied  Tom,  'it  could  not  be  surpassed  for 
beauty,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  such  glorious  scenes  as 
this  have  awakened  the  minds  of  men  in  the  past  to  the 
desires  of  a  paradise  of  just  such  quiet  enjoyment  as  this 
has  afforded  us.' 

'Probably.  Well,  I  feel  like  retiring.  Good  night, 
my  friend.  Tomorrow  we  shall  begin  our  French 
lessons.' 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ARRIVAL    IN    ENGLAND THROUGH     FRANCE,    TO    ITALY 

IN    ROME,    THE    ETERNAL    CITY. 

At  breakfast  on  the  following  morning,  Thomas  Gaston 
again  sat  beside  Warfield.  There  had  been  a  change  in 
the  weather ;  a  fresh  wind  was  now  blowing  from  the 
northwest,  and  the  ship  was  rolling  somewhat. 

'  We  shall  not  have  such  another  evening  as  that  of 
yesterday,'  said  Warfield,  'probably  during  the  entire 
trip;  but  it  need  not  prevent  us  from  prosecuting  our 
studies  ;  so  after  breakfast  we  will  begin.  At  first  it  will 


148  IN"  FETTERS: 

not  be  so  easy  for  you,  but  by  and  by  we  will  talk  of 
common-place  things  in  French,  and  in  this  way  I  am 
satisfied  you  will  get  along  very  well.' 

'Thank  you,'  said  Tom.  'But  I  do  hope  it  will  not 
become  a  bore  to  you.' 

'  It  will  be  a  pleasure.  Besides,  when  you  are  tired 
we  can  talk  philosophy,  or  something  else.' 

So  the  work  of  teaching  French  in  a  few  days  began, 
and  was  prosecuted  with  such  success  that  before  the 
Irish  coast  was  sighted,  Tom  could  do  fairly  well  in  a 
limited  conversation,  in  French,  on  common  matters. 

As  the  steamer  was  forging  its  way  along  the  Irish 
coast  through  St.  George's  Channel,  young  Gaston  said 
toWarfield: 

'  I  presume  my  best  plan,  on  landing  in  Liverpool,  will 
be  to  go  at  once  to  London,  and  from  thence  take  a 
steamer  up  the  Mediterranean  to  Rome?' 

'To  go  to  London  directly  from  Liverpool  is  all  right; 
but  if  you  desire  to  reach  Rome  in  the  quickest  time,  the 
best  route  is  from  London  by  rail  to  Folkstone,  and  from 
there  by  steamer  to  Boulogne;  thence  by  rail  to  Paris; 
Paris  to  Lyons  by  rail,  diligence  and  water,  and  thence 
by  boat  to  Marseilles.  At  that  place  you  cart  take  a 
steamer  to  Civita  Vecchia,  by  way  of  Genoa,  and  from 
Civita  Vecchia  to  Rome,  by  diligence,  it  is  seventy-five 
miles.  This  route,  however,  will  involve  more  expense 
than  that  by  water.' 

'  I  do  not  care  for  that,'  said  Tom.  '  My  object  is  to 
get  there  as  quickly  as  I  can,  at  any  cost.' 

Then  Tom  related  to  his  now  warm  friend  the  exact 
nature  of  his  mission  to  Rome.  The  gentleman  thanked 
him  for  this  confidence,  and  said  he  would  give  him  a 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  149 

note  to  a  friend  in  Rome,  who  would  show  him  attention 
and  make  his  visit  a  pleasant  and  profitable  one,  so  far 
as  sight-seeing  was  concerned. 

'I  was  in  and  around  Rome  for  several  months  some 
thing  over  a  year  ago,'  said  Warfield,  'and  witnessed 
scenes  which  made  my  heart  feel  sad.  It  was  a  curious 
sight  to  behold  the  soldiers  of  Republican  France  over 
throw  the  Republic  of  Italy,  and  it  was  a  sad  one,  also. 
The  first  Napoleon  established  a  Republic  in  Italy,  nearly 
half  a  century  ago;  now,  another  Napoleon  — President 
of  the  French  Republic — has  overthrown  one  established 
by  the  freedom-loving  Italians,  with  the  brave  Garibaldi 
at  their  head,  one  of  the  noblest  soldiers  of  the  present 
century.  This  great  man  is  not  dead  yet,  and  I  predict 
for  him  a  future  of  great  achievement  in  connection  with 
the  freedom  of  Italy.' 

'Is  he  not  now  in  the  United  States?'  asked  Tom. 

'He  is;  but  with  the  purpose  of  returning  to  Italy 
when  opportunity  offers,  I  am  told;  and,  if  I  mistake  not, 
he  will  return  in  less  than  five  years.' 

'Is  France  satisfied  with  the  Republic?'  asked  Tom. 

'No;  that  is,  the  active  elements  in  politics  are  not. 
Louis  Napoleon  is  plotting  to  become  Emperor,  and  he 
may  attempt  and  carry  a  coup  d'etat  at  any  moment. 
This  would  no  doubt  serve  as  a  key-note  to  a  still  more 
complicated  condition  of  affairs  in  Europe,  and  where  it 
all  will  end  no  one  can  foresee.' 

'Do  you  go  beyond  England?'  asked  the  young  man. 

'Yes,  —  I  go  direct  to  Paris,  and  will  accompany  you 
that  far,'  replied  Warfield. 

'I  am  glad  to  hear  that,'  said  Tom,  '  for  I  esteem  it  a 
fine  privilege  to  travel  in  your  company.' 


150  IN    FETTERS. 

'That  you  shall,'  was  the  hearty  reply. 

The  Baltic  steamed  up  the  Mersey,  and,  about  noon, 
a  small  steamer  came  alongside,  took  off  the  passengers 
and  baggage,  and  carried  them  to  the  landing-stage,  an 
immense  floating  pier,  rendered  necessary  by  the  great 
rise  and  fall  of  the  tide  in  the  river. 

After  passing  the  custom  house  officers,  the  friends 
were  driven  to  a  hotel,  where  thay  had  dinner,  and  then 
took  the  afternoon  train  for  London. 

'There  is  much  to  be  seen  in  Liverpool  as  well  as 
London,'  said  Warh'eld,  'but  you  must  content  yourself 
with  a  glimpse  of  the  fine  buildings  as  we  pass  along ; 
and,  before  the  light  fades,  we  can  perhaps  see  a  few  of 
the  fine  old  English  manors,  which  line  the  route  to 
London.' 

Arriving  in  London  in  the  night  time,  young  Gaston 
would  have  been  puzzled  what  to  do,  but  his  friend 
Warfield  appeared  to  know  the  place  well,  and  ordered 
the  coach  to  proceed  to  Morley's  Hotel,  on  Trafalgar 
square,  where  rooms  were  obtained,  and  the  travelers 
retired  for  the  night. 

Tom  slept  soundly,  and  was  up  early  in  the  morning. 

He  was,  however,  anticipated  by  his  friend,  Warfield, 
who  had  been  down  before  him,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
taking  a  walk  before  breakfast,  in  which  the  young  man 
gladly  joined  him. 

They  did  not  go  far  beyond  Charing  Cross,  however, 
but  soon  returned  to  the  hotel,  where  they  breakfasted, 
and  then  prepared  for  the  business  of  the  day. 

'  The  train  will  not  leave  for  Folkstone  until  8  o'clock 
this  evening,  so  that  we  will  have  some  time  on  our 
hands  to  view  London.  Have  you  any  business  that 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PEIEST?  151 

you  desire  to  transact  in  the  city  now  ? '  asked  Warfield. 

'  Yes ;  I  wish  to  see  my  father's  agent,  who  may 
enlighten  me  in  regard  to  when  brother  Richard  passed 
through  London.  Then  I  have  some  sterling  exchange 
to  get  cashed,  and  letters  of  credit  to  obtain  for  the 
continent.' 

'Very  good,'  said  Warfield.  'I  have,  also,  some 
business  to  transact,  and  will  accompany  you  to  the  place, 
which  is  not  far  from  here,  where  I'll  leave  you  for  half 
an  hour,  and  call  on  my  return.' 

A  carriage  was  called,  and  the  friends  were  driven  to 
the  business  section,  where  Tom  easily  found  the  firm 
that  did  business  for  his  father  in  England.  He  there 
learned  that  Richard  had  arrived  in  London  some  two 
weeks  before,  and  called  on  them  to  obtain  exchange  for 
the  continent,  and  had  started  forward  without  delay  to 
his  destination. 

Thomas  Gaston  delivered  his  letter  of  credit,  but  as 
he  did  not  wish  to  draw  any  money  on  it,  but  only  to 
get  his  bills  of  exchange  turned  into  available  money, 
the  firm  readily  undertook  to  do  this  for  him,  and  also  to 
arrange  for  his  passports  and  other  matters  pertaining  to 
the  journey  on  the  Continent.  Promising  to  forward 
these  to  his  hotel,  and  desiring  him  to  call  on  his  return 
to  London,  when  they  would  show  him  the  city,  the 
kindly  merchants  bade  him  good-bye,  just  as  the  carriage, 
with  Warfield  inside,  stopped  in  front  of  the  house. 

'I  see  you  have  concluded  your  business,'  said 
Warfield,  'and  now  we  will  return  to  the  hotel.  I  have 
there  some  letters  to  write,  after  which  we  will  take  a 
carriage  and  drive  to  Hyde  Park,  where  you  can  see  the 
great  Crystal  Palace,  about  which  so  much  has  been 


152  IN  FETTERS: 

written  and  printed.     It  is  certainly  a  modern  wonder.' 

In  an  hour's  time,  the  messenger  with  money,  pass 
ports,  etc. ,  came  to  the  hotel,  and  by  that  time  Warfield 
had  finished  his  correspondence. 

A  carriage  was  ordered,  and  the  friends  were  driven 
out  to  view  the  new  wonder  of  the  world  —  the  great 
Crystal  Palace.  This  was  one  of  the  sights  Tom  would 
not  have  missed  seeing,  for  he  desired  to  send  a 
descriptive  letter  in  regard  to  it  to  the  Boston  Times. 
But  he  was  more  than  surprised  at  its  extent.  It  had  a 
front  of  more  than  one-third  of  a  mile,  besides  its 
branches.  It  covered  an  area  of  eighteen  acres,  and 
under  its  vaulted  transept  were  to  be  seen  some  large 
and  stately  trees  that  were  growing  in  the  park. 

The  structure  was  a  wonder,  the  framework  of  iron 
seemed  slight  in  comparison  to  the  size  of  the  building, 
and  was  in  fact  only  a  setting  for  the  glass,  so  that  the 
building  was  a  veritable  crystal  palace,  filled  with  the 
products  of  all  nations,  in  bewildering  variety  and 
amount,  and  was  visited  by  people  of  all  nationalities  by 
the  hundreds  of  thousands,  the  low  price  of  admittance 
(one  shilling  and  sixpence)  opening  it  to  the  poorest  as 
well  as  the  richest. 

Tom  was  delighted  with  all  he  saw,  and  took  copious 
notes  as  they  walked  around,  his  friend  greatly  aiding 
him  in  his  observations  by  his  knowledge  of  works  of  art 
and  machinery  of  all  kinds. 

Returning  to  the  hotel,  Tom  found  that  he  had  still 
four  hours  to  spare  before  the  train  left  for  Folkstone,  so 
he  told  his  friend  of  his  piirpose  to  write  a  letter  to  the 
Boston  paper,  giving  his  impressions  of  the  exhibition. 
He  must  also  write  to  his  father,  mother,  his  old  friend 


THE    MAN    OK    THE     PRIEST?  153 

Cluney,  and  to  one  or  two  of  his  good  friends  in  Boston. 

To  this  proposition  Warfield  readily  agreed,  and 
volunteered  to  read  over  his  correspondence  to  the  paper, 
and  suggest  improvements  —  an  offer  that  was  thankfully 
accepted. 

Tom  at  once  set  to  work,  and  in  about  two  hours  and 
a  half  had  a  letter  of  about  two  columns  in  length 
written,  which  Wartield  was  looking  over  with  great 
interest. 

'My  dear  sir,'  he  said  at  length,  'you  are  a  born 
journalist.  You  have  caught,  and  epitomized,  a  great 
many  things  that  should  be  of  interest  to  the  American 
reader.  Your  description  of  the  building,  its  varied 
contents,  and  the  scenes  attending  the  exhibition,  is 
excellent  —  could  not  be  bettered  in  the  same  space.  It 
is  highly  creditable,  indeed.  Mr.  Gaston,  you  would 
make  a  fine  war  correspondent.' 

'Perhaps  I  would,'  said  Tom,  laughing;  'but  I  fear  I 
would  be  too  fond  of  the  excitement  of  the  battle  to 
think  of  describing  it.  I  would  want  to  take  a  hand 
in  it.' 

'Perhaps  so;  but  the  novelty  would  soon  wear  off. 
You  would,  after  a  short  experience,  be  more  fascinated 
in  watching  the  drama  of  the  fight  than  in  taking  an 
active  part  in  it  —  that  is,  getting  into  a  situation  where 
you  could  see  only  what  was  going  on  in  your  near 
vicinity.' 

The  letters  were  despatched  to  the  post-office,  dinner 
eaten,  and  the  friends  took  the  carriage  for  the  railway 
station.  As  the  clock  struck  8  p.  m.  the  train  started 
for  Folkstone,  which  is  on  the  Kentish  coast,  some  80 
miles  from  London.  The  train  was  not  a  fast  one,  for  it 


154  IN   FETTEKS: 

did  not  arrive  at  Folkstone  until  the  following  morning, 
giving  plenty  of  time  and  opportunity  for  a  good  night's 
rest. 

They  went  at  once  to  a  small  steamer,  which  started 
to  sea  at  9  o'clock,  and  soon  the  white  cliffs  of  Dover  on 
the  one  hand,  and  those  of  Calais  on  the  other,  were 
distinctly  visible;  and  presently  the  little  steamer  was 
tossing  like  a  cockle-shell  in  the  rough  waters  of  the 
Straits  of  Dover.  The  passage,  if  rough,  was  but  a  short 
one,  for  in  two  hours  from  the  time  of  starting  the 
steamer  was  in  the  smooth  water  of  the  land-locked 
harbor  of  Boulogne,  and  secured  to  the  wooden  pier. 
One  of  the  conspicuous  things  noted  by  young  Gaston 
on  the  approach  to  Boulogne,  was  the  tall  column  on 
which  the  statue  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  was  placed. 

'That  monument,'  said  Warfield,  'is  the  statue  of 
Napoleon,  erected  there  by  his  army,  in  his  honor.  It 
was  here,  at  Boulogne,  in  1805,  that  Napoleon  assembled 
an  army  of  about  200,  000  men,  for  the  supposed  purpose 
of  invading  England,  but  the  execution  of  a  treaty  of 
alliance  between  that  country  and  the  continental  powers 
caused  him  to  abandon  the  project,  if  he  ever  really 
entertained  it,  so  that  the  English  can  still  boast  that 
their  women  have  never  yet  seen  the  smoke  of  an 
enemy's  camp-fires.' 

'  Napoleon  was  indeed  a  wonderful  man,'  remarked 
young  Gaston. 

'Yes,'  said  Warfield,  'he  was  a  military  genius.  He 
knew  perhaps  better  than  any  man  of  his  day  how  to 
mould  bodies  of  men  into  vast  engines  of  force,  and  to 
launch  them  like  battering  rams  against  living  walls,  to 
demolish  them.  Napoleon's  men  boasted  that  he  made 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PKIEST  ?  155 

them  fight  and  win  battles  more  with  their  feet  than 
their  hands.' 

'  Mere  fighting,  then,  is  not  all  that  is  required  to  win 
battles?'  said  Gaston. 

'  No,  indeed.  The  best  fighting  may  be  done  by  the 
men  who  will  be  defeated.' 

'That  seems  paradoxical,'  observed  Gaston. 

'  Yes ;  but  it  is  sometimes  true.  It  is  not  the  killing 
of  a  great  number  of  men  that  secures  victory,  but  the 
disorganization  of  the  opposing  force,  so  that  they  can 
not  offer  a  united  front  against  attack.  Napoleon's 
great  strength  lay  in  the  celerity  of  his  movements  and 
the  audacity  and  strength  of  his  attack.  This  was 
illustrated  in  his  campaign  in  Austria  in  1809,  when  by  a 
succession  of  rapid  movements  and  attacks  he  defeated 
the  Austrian  army  in  several  successive  battles,  and 
finally  so  disorganized  it  by  defeat  and  dispersion  that 
he  practically  destroyed  it  for  the  time  being,  as  an 
effective  fighting  engine.' 

'I  have  sometimes  thought,'  said  Tom,  'that  I  would 
like  to  be  a  soldier  under  such  a  man  as  Napoleon  —  to 
be  a  private,  and  rise  from  the  ranks  to  a  high  position.' 

'Never  carry  out  such  an  idea  as  enlisting  in  the 
ranks,'  said  Warfield,  with  a  smile,  '  at  least  with  the 
expectation  of  rising  though  personal  bravery,  where  all 
are  alike  brave ;  though,  if  you  should  be  foolish  enough 
to  enlist,  it  would  be  well  to  aim  high,  even  if  it  were  a 
hopeless  ambition.' 

'Has  not  a  common  soldier  a  chance  to  distinguish 
himself  in  war  ? ' 

'  Rarely.  Not  one  in  ten  thousand,'  replied  Warfield. 
'An  army  is  a  machine,  and  the  more  perfect  machine  it 


156  IN  FETTERS: 

is,  the  more  effective  it  can  be  made  in  the  hands  of  an 
able  general.  The  best  soldier  is  the  one  who  most 
exactly  obeys  orders  and  does  the  duties  assigned  to  him. 
In  fact,  obedience  to  orders  is  the  first  principle  incul 
cated  in  the  discipline  of  an  army,  and  that  principle 
runs  up  through  every  rank,  from  the  private  to  the 
general  in  command.  The  more  perfect  the  obedience 
of  the  rank  and  tile  of  an  army,  the  easier  it  is  to 
handle,  and  the  more  effective  a  force  it  becomes  in  the 
hands  of  an  able  general. 

'But  an  army  is  a  complex  machine,  and  it  may  be 
made  much  more  formidable  and  effective  by  raising  its 
morale,  which  can  be  best  achieved  by  success  in  its 
operations  and  confidence  in  its  commander.  Napoleon's 
success  was  due,  first,  to  strict  discipline  in  movement, 
and,  secondly,  to  his  ability  to  utilize  this  in  overthrow 
ing  his  enemy.  His  soldiers  had  the  fullest  confidence 
that  if  they  obeyed  his  orders  he  would  make  them  win 
the  victory,  so  that  they  were  always  ready  to  obey;  and 
if  they  met  with  temporary  defeat,  they  did  not  blame 
him  for  it,  but  themselves.  Napoleon  was  their  idol,  and 
they  were  ready  at  all  times  to  sacrifice  themselves  for 
him.' 

'Fighting  battles,  I  am  told,'  said  Tom,  'is  like  play 
ing  chess.' 

'In  a  manner  it  may  be  likened  to  that;  but  I  think  a 
better  illustration  would  be  to  compare  two  generals 
fighting  a  battle  to  two  pugilists  boxing.  The  necessity 
for  guarding  against  the  attacks  of  an  opponent  on  weak 
points  is  the  same,  and  the  equal  or  greater  necessity  of 
giving  effective  blows  is  also  indicated.  The  general, 
however,  wields  battalions,  brigades,  divisions,  and  even 


THE    MAN    OE    THE    PKIEST?  157 

army  corps  in  his  blows,  and  whenever  he  can  deliver 
the  strongest  and  heaviest  blows  at  his  opponent  in  the 
most  vital  and  vulnerable  parts,  the  more  likely  he  is  to 
be  successful. 

'  Before  it  comes  to  blows,  however,  both  armies  to  a 
contest  may  manosuvre  to  obtain  advantage  of  position  ; 
such,  for  example,  as  the  guarding  of  one  flank  by 
water,  swamp,  or  other  natural  obstruction,  or  choosing 
a  hill  or  other  natural  feature  of  the  ground  to 
strengthen  his  centre,  and  await  attack.  If  his  choice  is 
well  made  and  his  position  a  strong  one,  his  opponent 
may  yet  move  around  him  so  as  to  compel  a  change  of 
front  and  base.  Napoleon's  success  often  hinged  on 
deciding  to  attack  when  his  enemy  was  not  prepared  for 
it,  or  was  too  confident  in  the  position  chosen,  or  would 
disarrange  his  plans  by  attack  at  a  point  that  was  least 
expected.' 

The  passengers  were  not  long  delayed  by  the  customs 
officers,  who  were  very  courteous,  and  the  friends  were 
soon  on  board  the  cars  and  on  their  way  to  Paris. 
There  was  a  peculiar  swinging  or  vibratory  motion  to 
the  cars,  like  the  rolling  of  a  ship,  which  was  not  at  all 
agreeable,  but  Tom  forgot  it  in  the  interest  which  the 
historic  places  he  was  passing  through  inspired,  espec 
ially  when  recalled  by  so  intelligent  a  man  as  his 
companion,  who  seemed  to  know  the  country  intimately. 
Most  of  the  country  passed  over  in  the  200  miles  from 
Boulogne  to  Paris,  was  beautiful  as  well  as  historic,  and 
gave  evidence  of  the  highest  degree  of  cultivation. 
After  a  delightful  ride,  passing  through  Abbeville, 
Amiens,  Chantilly,  and  other  places  of  interest,  the  day 
closed  just  as  the  train  passed  into  Paris  by  the  gate  of 


158  IN  FETTERS: 

St.  Denis,  and  the  travelers,  after  again  undergoing 
inspection  by  customs  officers,  found  their  way  to  the 
Hotel  des  Princes,  on  the  Rue  Richelieu. 

Here  Warfield,  after  directing  Tom  how  to  proceed  in 
the  morning,  parted  with  him.  He  handed  him  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  a  friend  in  Rome,  and  said : 

'My  friend,  we  have  had  a  pleasant  journey  together 
from  America,  and  I  have  learned  to  like  you.  We  may 
never  meet  again,  but  if  you  should  ever  come  to  Europe 
again,  or  if  on  your  return  from  Rome  you  might  wish 
to  find  me,  at  this  address  you  can  trace  me,  if"  I  am 
alive.'  He  handed  him  a  card,  which  Tom  did  not  read, 
but  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  thrust  into  his 
pocket  with  the  letter.  Then  he  said,  with  emotion : 

'Mr.  Warfield,  if  I  believed  in  fate  or  special 
providence,  I  would  say  that  it  was  one  or  the  other 
which  has  made  us  companions  on  the  voyage  from 
America.  You  have  not  only  instructed  me  in  many 
things  which  are  useful  to  know,  but  you  have  enlight 
ened  me  on  much  that  I  knew  in  a  way,  but  not  with  the 
confidence  which  I  feel  in  such  knowledge  since  talking 
with  you.  I  shall  remember  your  kindness  and  condes 
cension  to  me  —  a  mere  stranger  and  a  nobody  —  with 
gratitude,  while  I  live.  I  have  found  in  you  a  master 
mind,  and  recognize  in  you  the  only  nobility  which  I 
would  bow  to  —  superior  knowledge.  If  I  return  to 
Paris,  and  have  the  time  to  spare,  I  shall  call  on  you,  for 
I  believe  your  invitation  is  given  sincerely.  If  not — 
then  I  shall  ever  remember  you.' 

With  a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand,  the  friends  parted. 
Tom's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Next    morning    Thomas   Gaston    proceeded    to    the 


THE    MAN    OE    THE    PBIEST?  159 

diligence — a  large  coach  drawn  by  six  horses  —  and 
was  driven  to  the  railway  station  at  the  north-east  side 
of  Paris.  Here  the  diligence  was  lifted,  bodily,  from  its 
wheels  and  placed  on  to  a  railway  truck,  and  the  train 
started  for  Tonnere,  where  the  diligence  was  again 
transferred  to  wheels,  and  six  horses  carried  it  along  to 
Dijon,  some  213  miles  from  Paris,  where  it  arrived  next 
morning.  After  a  short  delay  for  refreshments,  the 
coach  started  for  Chalons,  43  miles  distant,  where  it 
arrived  in  the  evening. 

From  Chalons  to  Lyons  the  voyage  was  by  river 
steamer,  and  from  Lyons  to  Marseilles  by  steamer  also. 

If  I  were  writing  a  book  of  travel,  I  might  tell  of  the 
famous  places  passed  through,  their  historic  chateaus 
and  other  landmarks,  many  of  them  dating  back  to  the 
times  of  the  Roman  occupation.  Such  things  were  seen 
by  Thomas  Gaston,  and,  by  the  aid  of  a  guide-book,  were 
recognized  and  appreciated  in  a  way,  though  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  was  in  a  state  of  partial  preoccupation,  his 
mind  being  largely  taken  up  with  thoughts  of  his  brother 
and  of  the  new  acquaintance  he  had  parted  with  in  Paris, 
whose  identity  he  could  not  guess. 

Remembering  the  letter  given  him  by  that  gentleman 
—  and  he  wondered  he  had  not  thought  of  it  before  — 
just  as  the  steamer  hove  in  sight  of  Marseilles,  Thomas 
Gaston  drew  it  forth  from  his  pocket,  and  with  it  a  card 
containing  Warfield's  address,  which,  to  his  intense 
chagrin,  escaped  from  his  hand  and  was  carried  away  by 
the  wind!  His  first  impulse  was  almost  to  jump  over 
after  it,  but  of  what  avail? 

He  now  looked  at  the  letter  in  his  hand  for  the  first 
time,  and  was  startled  to  read  this  name  and  address  on  it : 


160  IN  FETTERS: 

DR.    VINCENT    GASTON, 

74,  via  della  Croce,  Rome. 

There  was  certainly  something  very  strange  in  this, 
he  thought.  The  letter  was  sealed.  But  an  idea 
occurred  to  him  in  connection  with  it,  and  that  was  that 
Dr.  Gaston  might  know  the  address  of  his  late  friend, 
and  at  least  could  tell  him  who  he  was.  This  thought 
consoled  him  for  the  loss,  in  so  heedless  a  manner,  of  the 
address  given  him. 

It  was  just  seventeen  days  from  the  time  young  Gaston 
parted  with  his  father  and  Cluney  on  board  the  Baltic, 
at  New  York,  that  he  found  himself  in  the  French  Medi 
terranean  port  of  Marseilles,  famed  more  for  being 
an  unhealthy  place  than  anything  else  in  the  minds 
of  travelers.  This  year,  however,  it  was  more  than 
ordinarily  healthy,  and  as  the  cool  nights  of  Autumn 
were  coming  on  —  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  second 
week  in  September  —  there  was  no  danger  of  sickness. 

On  the  following  morning — Tuesday  —  a  steamer  of 
the  Messageries  Impenales  line  was  to  sail  for  Genoa, 
Leghorn,  and  Civita  Vecchia,  and  after  putting  up  at  the 
Hotel  Richelieu,  and  getting  dinner,  our  young  traveler 
proceeded  to  the  office  of  the  company  on  the  quay,  and 
secured  his  passage  to  Civita  Vecchia. 

An  early  start  was  made  by  the  steamer  on  the  follow 
ing  morning,  and  Thomas  Gaston  was  afforded  a  fine 
opportunity  to  see  the  whole  of  the  mainland  coast,  and 
the  off-lying  islands  of  the  Tuscan  archipelago.  These 
places  were  enhanced  in  beauty  to  his  eyes  by  the  fact 
that  they  had  been  the  scenes  of  some  of  the  most 
famous  deeds  recorded  in  the  wondrous  history  of  the 
Roman  empire,  and  its  numerous  mediaeval  and  modern 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PKIEST?  161 

successors.  On  the  mainland  nearly  every  foot  of 
ground  had  been  fought  over,  until  each  one  had  a  red 
record  of  violent  deaths  to  bear  witness  to. 

By  the  evening  the  steamer  entered  the  fine  harbor  of 
the  ancient  city  of  Genoa,  which  on  the  land  side  is 
encircled  by  an  amphitheatre  of  hills.  After  a  short 
stay,  to  land  freight  and  passengers,  the  steamer  again 
put  to  sea,  and  at  six  o'clock  on  the  following  morning 
reached  Leghorn. 

Much  to  young  Gaston's  chagrin,  a  delay  of  about 
eleven  hours  was  made  in  Leghorn,  which  had  many 
places  of  interest;  but  Tom  spent,  most  of  the  time  on 
board  the  steamer,  writing  letters  descriptive  of  his 
travels,  two  of  which  he  mailed  in  Leghorn. 

At  5  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — it  was  Wednesday— 
the  steamer  again  put  to  sea,  and,  before  darkness  set  in, 
passed  between  the  islands  of  Corsica  and  Elba — the 
one  famous  as  being  the  birthplace  of  the  Great 
Napoleon,  and  the  other  the  scene  of  his  first  exile,  after 
his  disastrous  Russian  campaign.  Both  islands  were 
distinctly  visible  in  the  twilight  glow,  and  the  young 
traveler  looked  upon  them  with  strange  emotion. 

'  Here,  in  this  Italian  peninsula,'  Tom  reflected,  'has 
been  the  cradle  as  well  as  the  grave  of  many  an  ambitious, 
aspiring  man,  while  on  that  little  island,  yonder,  perhaps 
the  greatest  of  them  all  was  produced.  And  where  are 
they  all  now?  Gone  back  to  nothingness.  The  animated 
dust  which  once  contained  such  spirits  has  long  since 
mingled  with  that  of  commoner  mortals — no  better,  and 
no  worse. 

'What is  ambition,  after  all,  but  inflated  pride!  And 
what  is  pride?  Is  it  not  the  quintessence  of  selfishness, 


162  IN  FETTERS: 

or  is  it  not  rather  the  result  of  that  mysterious  prompt 
ing  of  our  nature  —  of  all  animate  nature,  in  fact — that 
impels  us  to  persist  up  to  the  verge  of  dissolution? 
Who  can  say  what  it  is  ?  To  me  it  is  a  puzzle  —  one  of 
the  puzzles  of  existence!' 

With  such  thoughts  as  these  passing  rapidly  through 
his  mind,  young  Gaston  spent  several  hours  on  deck,  the 
night  being  calm  and  cloudless,  and  then  he  retired  to 
rest.  At  5  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  arose,  and  found 
the  steamer  nearing  her  destination.  At  6  o'clock,  with 
a  bright  sun  shining,  the  steainer  dropped  anchor  in  the 
harbor  of  Civita  Vecchia;  and,  after  a  tedious  delay 
occasioned  by  the  visit  of  inspection  on  the  part  of 
military  and  custom-house  officers,  the  passengers  and 
their  baggage  were  landed  by  means  of  a  row-boat. 

The  stage  coach  for  Rome  started  soon  after,  and  the 
ride  of  75  miles  to  the  Eternal  City  was  inaugurated  at  a 
goodly  pace. 

If  it  were  not  for  its  historical  associations,  a  more 
uninteresting  country  could  hardly  be  imagined  than 
that  passed  through,  or  rather  by,  for  the  road  led  along 
near  the  sea  shore.  Some  ten  miles  inland  could  be  seen 
the  line  of  the  Apennines,  which  seemed  to  run  parallel 
with  the  coast,  and  formed  a  background  for  a  picture 
of  desolation. 

The  few  people  met  with  were  ragged,  squalid  and 
dirty,  and  were  anything  but  creditable  to  the  govern 
ment  of  the  Catholic  church,  while  beggars  besieged  the 
coach  at  every  stopping  place,  and  were  the  most 
persistent  of  their  class  young  Gaston  had  ever  dreamed 
of.  But  then  it  was  his  first  experience  of  such  debased 
mendicancy. 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  163 

'Why,'  said  he,  to  himself,  'these  are  but  little  better 
than  savages  —  not  as  good,  come  to  think  of  it,  for  the 
savage  is  in  the  line  of  development,  while  these  are 
degenerate.  What  a  comment  their  condition  makes  on 
misrule  and  oppression,  church  and  state.  It  is  terrible ! ' 

This  was  rather  a  rude  shock  to  his  ideas  of  that  land 
which  was  once  the  abode  of  giants  among  men.  Was 
it  possible,  he  mused,  that  he  was  traveling  in  what  was 
at  one  time  almost  the  centre  of  the  great  Roman 
Empire?  Was  this  bare,  uncultivated,  desolate  country 
at  one  time  covered  with  towns,  villages,  sumptuous 
villas,  gardens,  pleasure-grounds,  and  cultivated  fields, 
teeming  with  the  harvest  and  the  vintage?  Was  it  on 
this  ground  that  the  masters  of  the  world  pursued  their 
business  and  their  pastimes? 

Along  these  desolate  plains  marched  the  grand  armies 
of  Rome  on  their  way  to  glory  and  conquest,  and  over 
these  also  rolled  the  tide  of  Gothic  and  Vandal  invasion, 
that  was  to  finally  bring  the  proud  city  and  empire  to 
the  dust  —  'the  throne  and  grave  of  empires.' 

When  great  nations  become  vain  and  effeminate,  then 
brutality  has  its  opportunity,  and  the  culture,  science,  arts 
and  civilization  of  centuries  may  be  wrecked  in  an  hour. 
'  So  passeth  the  glory  of  the  world.' 

One  of  the  first  objects  noted,  to  signal  the  approach 
to  the  Eternal  City,  was  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  which 
was  observed  when  the  coach  was  still  about  fifteen 
miles  distant  from  Rome.  Then  the  young  man  looked 
about  him  to  discern  some  sign  of  suburban  settlement 
and  cultivation,  but  in  vain.  And  this  was  prosperity 
under  the  benign  rule  of  the  church! 

At  length,  just  as  the  twilight  had  settled  down  into 


164  IN  FETTERS: 

darkness,  the  coach  passed  through  the  gate  in  the  city 
wall,  the  Porta  Cavalleggieri,  as  it  is  called.  After  a 
short  delay,  the  coach  resumed  its  way,  encountering  a 
number  of  French  soldiers  on  duty,  and  passed  by  the 
immense  colonnade  of  St.  Peter's,  and  then  crossed  the 
Tiber  on  the  only  ancient  Roman  bridge  that  then 
spanned  it,  the  (Elian.  Then,  after  a  drive  of  some  two 
miles  in  the  city,  the  coach  paused  in  the  spacious  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  under  the  Pincian  hill,  comfortable  accommo 
dations  being  found  at  the  Hotel  des  Isles  Britannique. 
Here  young  Gaston  learned  that  the  waiters  spoke  fairly 
good  English,  so  he  was  not  called  on  to  use  his  callow 
French  with  them,  for  which  he  was  not  sorry. 

He  made  a  hearty  supper;  and,  feeling  tired,  and 
being  satisfied  that  it  would  be  a  search  to  a  disadvantage 
to  look  for  his  brother  that  evening,  he  concluded  he 
would  go  to  bed  and  have  a  good  night's  rest,  which  he 
proceeded  to  do. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN    ROME RICHARD    ORDAINED    A    PRIEST DR.    VINCENT 

GASTON ROMAN    SCENES    AND    REFLECTIONS. 

When  Thomas  Gaston  awoke  on  the  morning  succeed 
ing  his  arrival  in  Rome,  he  found  that  he  had  overslept 
himself,  he  being  an  early  riser  from  habit.  He  dressed 
quickly,  and  went  down  to  breakfast,  after  which  he 
approached  the  landlord,  and  attempted  to  open  a 
conversation  with  him  in  French.  The  landlord,  who 
was  a  German,  with  a  spice  of  German  humor  in  him, 


THE    MAN   OK    THE    PKIEST?  165 

perceiving  by  his  accent  that  the  young  man  spoke 
English,  said : 

« Vy  don't  you  speak  de  English,  my  frient?' 

Tom  laughed,  and  proceeded  to  make  known  his 
desires  in  his  native  tongue. 

'I  would  like,'  he  said,  'to  find  Dr.  Vincent  Gaston,  via 
della  Croce.  Can  you  direct  me  where  to  go?' 

The  landlord  gave  him  the  direction,  which  was  to  go 
straight  down  the  via  del  Corso,  and  the  street  he  was 
in  search  of  was  the  seventh  on  the  left.  Then  he 
added — 

'Ah,  I  see — it  is  your  oncle.' 

Without  affirming  or  contradicting  this  idea,  the  young 
man  set  out  to  find  the  doctor.  He  had  concluded  that 
this  would  be  the  best  thing  to  do,  for  the  doctor,  who 
had  lived  for  some  time  in  Rome,  could  tell  him  just 
what  to  do  in  the  matter  of  finding  his  brother,  and 
reaching  the  Propaganda  headquarters,  where  he  would 
be  most  likely  to  be  found. 

After  a  brisk  walk  of  about  fifteen  minutes,  he  reached 
the  hotel  at  which  Dr.  Vincent  Gaston  was  located.  On 
ringing  the  bell,  a  servant  in  livery  appeared,  who  looked 
at  him  in  evident  surprise,  and,  on  hearing  his  desire, 
ushered  him  into  a  richly-furnished  apartment,  and  with 
drew. 

In  about  fifteen  minutes— it  seemed  two  hours  to  the 
impatient  waiter — the  door  opened,  and  a  gentleman  of 
middle  age,  wearing  gold-bowed  spectacles,  walked 
briskly  into  the  room. 

'Monsieur,'  he  said,  in  French,  'I  am  at  your  service.' 

Tom  looked  curiously  at  the  doctor,  and  with  good 
reason,  too,  he  thought,  for  in  him  he  recognized  a  face 


166  IN  FETTERS: 

and  form  that  might  be  that  of  his  father's  brother,  so 
strong  were  the  leading  physical  traits  of  his  father 
displayed  in  him. 

'Pardon  my  intrusion,  doctor,'  he  said,  in  English,  ;for 
my  business  is  not  of  a  professional  nature.  But  I  have 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  one  of  your  friends  —  a 
gentleman  who  values  you  highly.'  And  he  handed  him 
Warfield's  letter. 

The  doctor  read  the  letter  with  evident  surprise,  and 
some  emotion.  Then  he  looked  at  Thomas  Gaston,  took 
him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  drew  him  close  up  to  the 
window. 

*  I  want  to  look  at  you  in  a  clear  light,'  he  said. 

He  looked  at  him  closely,  and  then  said,  in  a  satisfied 
tone  —  'Yes,  you  are  a  Gaston.  There  is  no  mistaking 
the  leading  facial  and  other  characteristics  of  the  family 
in  you.  Sit  down  —  sit  down.  Now  what  can  I  do  for 
you?' 

Then  Tom  told  him  the  purport  of  his  mission  to 
Rome;  and  that  the  first  thing  he  desired  to  do  was  to 
find  his  brother,  who  would  no  doubt  be  at  or  near  the 
College  of  the  Propaganda. 

'That  is  not  far  distant,'  said  Dr.  Gaston.  'It  is  in 
the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  at  the  end  of  this  street.  I  will  go 
with  you.' 

On  the  way  Tom  told  the  doctor  how  anxious  he  was 
to  find  his  brother,  and  save  him  from  becoming  a  priest, 
as  a  wife  and  good  fortune  awaited  him.  But  if  he  was 
ordained,  then  it  would  not  be  wise  to  say  anything  to 
him  about  it. 

'I  understand,'  said  Dr.  Gaston,  'and  I  will  be 
discreet.  There  are  two  hotels  near  the  college  —  the 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  167 

Europa  and  the  Hotel  de  Londres.  We  will  try  the 
Europa  first  —  your  brother  may  be  there.' 

But  they  were  disappointed  in  this.  At  the  Hotel  de 
Londres,  however,  they  found  Richard,  in  company  with 
several  young  ecclesiastics,  all  foreigners,  and  most  of 
them  from  different  countries,  one  being  from  China. 

If  an  angel  had  appeared  to  Richard,  he  would  not 
have  been  more  surprised  than  to  see  his  brother  Tom  in 
Rome. 

'Why,  Tom,'  he  said,  after  a  warm  embrace  and 
greeting,  'you  are  the  last  person  I  would  dream  of 
seeing  here.  Has  anything  happened  at  home?' 

'  Father  and  mother  and  all  friends  are  well.  How  is 
it  with  you?  Am  I  in  time  to  be  present  at  your 
ordination?' 

'I  regret  that  you  are  not,'  replied  Richard.  'I  was 
ordained  three  days  ago.' 

Tom  felt  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  on  the  head  with 
a  sledge-hammer,  but  he  had  such  a  perfect  command  of 
his  face  that  the  smile  on  it  did  not  waver.  He  said, 
pleasantly : 

'Well,  I  regret  that  I  am  too  late.'  There  was  a 
bitterness  in  his  tone,  which,  however,  Richard  did  not 
notice,  but  which  was  detected  by  Dr.  Gaston.  Turning 
to  the  latter,  Tom  said : 

'Brother,  let  me  introduce  a  friend,  doctor '- 

Richard  had  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  doctor,  and  made 
an  impulsive  move  towards  him. 

'Surely,'  he  said,  'this  is  not'- 

He  was  about  to  say  'father,'  and  if  the  doctor  had 
been  ten  or  fifteen  years  younger  he  might  have  said  it ; 
but  he  paused,  still  gazing  on  him. 


168  IN  FETTERS: 

'No,'  said  Tom.  'Not  father  Gaston,  but  doctor 
Gaston.' 

'  If  your  moustache  were  removed,'  said  Richard,  after 
a  warm  greeting,  '  I  would  still  take  you  to  be  my  father. 
How  strange!  Tom  would  pass  for  your  son.  I  am 
hardly  a  Gaston,  but  resemble  the  people  of  my  Irish 
mother,  I  am  told.' 

After  some  further  conversation,  in  the  course  of 
which  it  was  arranged  that  Richard  and  Thomas  would 
meet  at  the  doctor's  residence  that  afternoon,  Tom 
took  his  leave,  and  left  the  hotel  with  the  doctor. 

'  I  am  sick  at  heart,'  he  said,  '  to  find  my  mission  of  no 
avail.  My  head  is  almost  bursting,  doctor  —  what  shall 
I  dd?  A  sedative  —  some  rest  —  eh?' 

'  Come  with  me,'  said  the  kind  physician,  '  and  I 
will  give  you  a  sedative,  and  you  can  have  a  quiet  rest 
in  my  house  until  evening.' 

Tom  accepted  the  offer  of  his  new  friend,  who  gave 
him  a  powder  in  a  glass  of  water.  '  This  will  make  you 
sleep,'  he  said,  '  and  that  will  answer,  for  what  you  now 
need  is  temporary  oblivion.' 

'  I  know  that,'  said  Thomas,  as  he  drained  the  glass, 
and  retired  to  the  room  assigned  him.  When  he  awoke 
it  was  evening,  and  darkness  covered  the  city.  Hastily 
arranging  his  apparel,  he  opened  the  door  of  his  room, 
and,  as  he  stepped  over  the  threshold,  Dr.  Gaston  greeted 
him  with : 

'Well,  my  dear  young  friend,  how  are  you  feeling 
now?' 

'I  am  all  right,  doctor.  The  narcotic  you  gave  me  did 
the  business  —  warded  off  the  blow — and  I  can  now  look 
fate  in  the  face.  Has  my  brother  arrived?' 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PKIEST?  169 

'He  has  been  here  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  we  have 
been  entertaining  him.  He  is  bright  and  amiable.' 

'Do  you  gather  that  he  has  any  suspicion  of  my  real 
motive  in  following  him,'  asked  Thomas. 

'I  judge  that  he  has  no  suspicion  of  the  real  cause,' 
replied  the  doctor. 

'I  am  glad  to  know  it.  If  he  suspected  the  truth,.  I 
fear  it  might  unhinge  him.  He  is  inclined  to  be 
impulsive.' 

'Now,'  said  the  doctor,  'for  refreshment.  You  must 
eat  a  special  dish,  which  I  have  had  prepared  for  you. 
While  eating  it,  I  shall  leave  you  alone.  When  done, 
you  can  come  into  the  salon,  which  a  servant  will  show 
you  to,'  and  leading  the  young  man  to  the  family 
refectory,  he  placed  him  at  a  table,  and  directed  the 
servant  to  wait  on  him.  The  dish  was  new  to  the  young 
man,  but  he  relished  it  and  ate  heartily.  Then  he 
sought  the  salon,  where  he  found  the  doctor,  his  wife, 
his  brother  Richard,  and  a  young  lady  who  was  intro 
duced  to  him  as  Miss  Beatrice  Gaston. 

The  doctor's  wife,  he  noticed,  was  very  much  younger 
than  her  husband  —  not  over  forty,  while  he  was 
evidently  over  sixty.  The  daughter  was  about  eighteen 
years  of  age,  but  resembled  her  mother,  who  was  a  lady 
of  1  toman  birth  and  family,  and  very  beautiful,  intelligent 
and  agreeable. 

Thomas  Gaston  explained  to  his  brother  that  fatigue 
after  his  journey  induced  him  to  seek  rest,  and  then  he 
joined  in  the  social  talk  of  the  family.  In  introducing 
his  daughter,  Dr.  Gaston  said  that  she  was  one  of  three 
children,  the  other  two  being  males.  One,  named 
Richard,  was  twenty  years  of  age,  and  was  at  that  time 


170  IN   FETTEKS! 

in  France,  at  the  Polytechnic  school  of  Paris,  while  the 
other,  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  was  at  an  academy  in 
Milan.  His  name  was  the  same  as  that  of  his  father. 
Dr.  Gaston  was  a  Frenchman,  and  like  all  his  country 
men  was  proud  of  the  distinction. 

'  So  you  see,'  said  Dr.  Gaston,  '  that  we  have  a  Richard 
in  our  family.  It  is  an  old  family  Christian  name  of  the 
Gastons.' 

'  That  was  my  grandfather's  as  well  as  my  father's 
name,'  said  Thomas. 

'Do  you  know  anything  of  your  family  history?'  asked 
the  doctor. 

Thomas  told  him  all  he  knew,  which  was  not  much, 
but  said  he  would  obtain  all  his  father  knew  of  it  and 
send  it  to  him  by  letter.  '  For,'  said  he,  'I  am  convinced 
of  our  family  relationship,  though  how  remote  it  may  be 
it  is  not  easy  to  guess.' 

'  I  shall  await  your  account  with  impatience,'  said  the 
doctor. 

'By  the  way,'  said  Thomas,  'can  you  tell  me  who  my 
traveling  companion  was,  who  called  himself  Warfield? 
He  gave  me  an  address,  which  he  said  would  find  him  in 
Paris,'  and  then  he  explained  to  the  doctor  how  he  lost  it. 

'  I  cannot  tell  you  who  he  is,'  replied  Dr.  Gaston,  '  for 
reasons  which  I  cannot  now  explain.  In  fact,  I  may  say 
that  he  is  something  of  a  mystery  to  me,  though  I  know 
his  name  and  rank.  He  is  a  nobleman  by  birth,  but  a 
democrat  by  choice.  He  is  a  soldier,  who  has  seen 
service,  and  a  scholar  and  scientist.  In  some  respects  he 
is  an  enigma.  I'll  give  you  an  example.  While  sympa 
thizing  with  the  Republicans  who  held  Rome  two  years 
ago,  he,  yet,  under  Gen.  Oudinot,  directed  the  siege 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PKIEST?  171 

operations  against  the  city,  which  ended  in  its  capitula 
tion.  I  have  reason  to  believe,  however,  that  he 
facilitated  the  escape  of  Garibaldi  and  his  followers.  I 
made  his  acquaintance  while  active  in  the  hospitals  here, 
and  saved  his  left  arm  from  amputation — the  bone  being 
shattered  by  a  musket  ball.  The  arm  is  now  good  as 
new,  but  it  is  fully  three  inches  shorter  than  the  right 
one.' 

'  I  never  noticed  it,'  said  Thomas. 

The  evening  was  agreeably  spent  by  the  brothers  at 
the  Gastons',  and  they  then  departed  for  their  hotels, 
after  arranging  to  meet  on  the  next  morning.  'I  want 
to  talk  with  you,  Tom,  about  home  and  other  matters,' 
said  Richard.  '  It  will  be  Sunday,  you  know,'  he  added, 
'but  we  shall  have  an  opportunity  to  talk  before  it  is 
time  to  go  to  mass.  I  think  you  will  like  to  go  to  St. 
Peter's  with  me.' 

'I  would  like  to  go,'  replied  Thomas,  and  the  brothers 
parted  for  the  night. 

Early  on  Sunday  morning  Richard  called  at  the  hotel 
where  his  brother  was  stopping  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo. 
Thomas  had  finished  breakfast,  and  when  his  brother 
called  on  him  he  took  him  at  once  to  his  apartments. 

'Now,  that  we  are  alone,  Tom,'  said  Richard,  'let  me 
ask  you  the  real  motive  of  your  following  after  me  so 
quickly  to  Rome?  I  am  satisfied  that  the  reason  you 
gave  me  yesterday  —  to  see  me  ordained  —  was  not  the 
real  one,  for  I  know  you  have  shared  with  others  the 
opposition  to  my  choice  of  profession.' 

'Why  were  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  be  ordained?'  asked 
Thomas,  avoiding  the  question.  'I  supposed  you  would 
have  to  undergo  an  examination,  and  submit  to  more  or 


172  IN   FETTEUS: 

less  of  probationary  delay.     But  of  course  I  am  ignorant 
of  such  procedure.' 

'  That  would  have  been  the  case,'  replied  Richard, 
'were  it  not  for  the  letters  which  I  brought  to  the  head 
of  the  Propaganda,  from  the  principal  of  the  college  in 
Montreal,  as  well  as  from  the  Bishop  of  Boston.  Only  a 
mere  formal  examination  was  made,  which  was  satisfac 
tory,  and,  as  they  were  about  to  ordain  a  number  of 
young  men  on  Wednesday,  I  concluded  that  it  would  be 
best  for  me  to  take  the  vows  and  be  ordained.  But  you 
have  not  answered  my  question  as  to  what  brought  you 
to  Rome,  Tom.' 

'I'll  tell  you,'  said  Thomas.  'Father  came  on  to 
Boston,  hoping  to  intercept  you,  so  that  you  could  trans 
act  some  business  for  him  in  London.  But  you  had 
gone,  and  he  seemed  so  disappointed  that  I  volunteered 
to  go  for  him.  Then,  it  struck  me,  that  it  would  be  no 
harm  for  me  to  follow  you  on  to  Rome,  and  try  and 
dissuade  you  from  the  determination  to  become  a  priest. 
But  I  suppose  it  would  have  been  useless,  even  if  I  had 
arrived  before  the  event  occurred.  Well,  I  have  had  a 
glimpse  of  Europe,  at  any  rate,  and  that  is  something. 
What  do  you  purpose  doing  next?' 

'I  shall  stay  in  Rome  for  a  few  months,  perhaps  till 
spring.  There  are  many  things  here  which  I  want  to 
see  and  study,  and  if  I  do  not  take  advantage  of  the 
present,  I  may  never  have  another  opportunity  of  doing 
it,'  replied  Richard.  Then  he  asked : 

'How  long  shall  you  stay,  Tom?' 

'Not  long,'  replied  Thomas.  'I  must  finish  my 
college  course,  and  obtain  my  degree.  I  will  take  a 
gallop  around  with  the  doctor,  and  then  go  home.' 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PKIEST?  173 

'  Dr.  Gaston  —  isn't  it  a  singular  thing  that  you  should 
have  run  across  him?  I  have  no  doubt  but  he  is  of  our 
family.  He  is  the  picture  of  father,  so  far  as  general 
features  are  concerned,  only  he  it  considerably  older. 
Well,  now,  will  you  go  with  me  to  St.  Peter's  church  to 
mass?'  asked  Richard.  'I  am  told  that  it  is  a  notable 
celebration,  and  that  His  Holiness  will  be  present.' 

'I  will  go,'  said  Thomas.  'It  will  no  doubt  be  a  show 
worth  seeing  —  a  spectacle,  I  mean,'  he  quickly  added, 
seeing  that  his  remark  displeased  his  brother. 

A  carriage  was  called,  and  the  brothers  proceeded  to 
St. Peter's,  where  the  pontifical  high  mass  was  celebrated, 
with  all  the  pomp  and  ceremony  pertaining  to  such  an 
august  religious  rite.  The  spectacle  was  a  brilliant  one, 
indeed,  though  to  Thomas  Gaston,  who  looked  upon  it 
more  as  a  theatrical  representation  than  anything  else, 
there  was  a  kind  of  mockery  in  the  whole  thing,  and  his 
irreverant  fancy  pictured  the  affair  as  being  carried  out 
by  skeletons  instead  of  men,  and  so  real  did  this  fancy 
for  the  moment  appear  to  him  that  he  imagined  he  heard 
the  rattling  of  dry  bones  under  the  richly  embroidered 
vestments  of  the  hundreds  of  ecclesiastics  who  took  part 
in  the  ceremony. 

The   great  church  edifice  of  St.  Peter's  itself  was  a* 
wonder  and  revelation  of  art  and  architecture  to  him. 
He  had  read  descriptions  of  it,  but  they  were  tame  in 
comparison  to  the  reality. 

'  What  a  glorious  work  of  skill  and  art  it  is,'  he  mused, 
'  and  it  not  inaptly  typifies  the  genius  of  a  religion  that 
feeds  the  imagination  with  fables,  while  it  excites  the 
fancy  by  the  help  of  such  show  and  tinsel  as  all  this  is. 
And  yet  I  have  no  doubt  that  many  of  these  poor  mortals, 


174  rtf  FETTERS: 

who  play  the  part  of  puppets  in  this  show,  believe  that 
they  are  doing  God  a  service.  They  are  animated  no 
doubt  by  the  same  spirit  that  swayed  the  priests  of  Isis 
thousands  of  years  ago;  and  probably  their  sacrifice  is 
just  as  significant  in  its  way  —  but  no  more.' 

Then  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  interior  of  the  church, 
which  was  rich  and  magnificent  beyond  anything  he  had 
ever  dreamed  of.  The  four  great  pillars  supporting  the 
vast  dome,  appeared  like  colossi  to  him,  with  the  burden 
of  heaven's  vault  resting  on  their  heads. 

'I  do  not  wonder,  after  all,'  mused  Tom,  'that,  in  such 
a  magnificent  church  as  this,  dedicated  to  the  Creator  of 
the  Universe,  there  should  be  more  or  less  of  inspiration 
to  minds  which  are  reverentially  inclined ;  and  that  in  it 
a  man  would  feel  his  own  littleness,  and  thereby  exalt 
the  greatness  of  the  God  it  is  dedicated  to. 

'And  yet,  after  all,  when  rightly  considered,  this 
should  be  regarded  rather  as  a  fane  of  deified  art ;  for, 
surely,  in  this  building  art  has  wrought  its  most  godlike 
achievement  —  a  poem  of  exquisite  grandeur  and  beauty. 
But  to  me  it  seems  incomplete.  Like  the  church,  of 
which  this  pile  may  be  said  to  be  the  architectural  repre 
sentation,  art  is  everything,  and  science  nothing.  It  is 
grand  and  beautiful,  appealing  to  the  imagination 
altogether ;  but  dull,  plodding  life  —  the  life  of  the  world 
—  is  far  removed  from  it.  It  is  the  portal  of  heaven, 
the  visible  throne  of  the  invisible  God,  to  the  common 
mind,  when,  after  all,  it  is.  but  the  embodiment  of  the 
artistic  conceptions  of  man  —  nothing  more  —  where 
beautiful  thoughts  have  been  carved  and  painted  into  an 
objective  representation  of  the  dreams  of  the  past  and 
hopes  of  the  future;  where  the  senses  are  lulled  by 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  175 

sweet  music  into  a  kind  of  rapt  abstraction — an  ecstatic 
condition  somewhat  akin  the  pleasures  of  narcotism,  and 
usually  attended  with  the  same  reactionary  symptoms.' 

Tom  could  not  restrain  the  agnostic  and  diagnostic 
habit,  even  in  the  sacred  hall  of  St.  Peter's.  And  while 
he  thus  mused,  his  pious  brother  prayed,  devoutly,  no 
doubt;  for  faith  made  the  occasion  to  him  one  of  the 
grand  opportunities  of  approaching  nearest  to  that  God 
who  promised  to  be  with  his  church  to  the  end. 

After  services  at  St.  Peter's,  the  brothers  took  carriage 
for  the  hotel  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  where  it  had  been 
agreed  that  Richard  would  stop  and  dine  with  his 
brother. 

At  the  table,  Tom — who  was  abstemious  by  habit  — 
noticed  that  Richard  showed  a  fondness  for  the  strong 
Italian  wine,  which  was  served  at  his  suggestion. 

'Dick,'  he  said,  'do  you  like  that  wine,  and  have  you 
drank  much  of  it  since  coming  to  Rome  ? ' 

'I  have  learned  to  like  it,'  was  the  reply,  'but  indulge 
in  it  only  at  meal  times.' 

'  I  do  not  seek  to  criticise  your  habit,  brother,  but  you 
will  pardon  me  if  I  utter  a  word  or  two  of  caution  in 
regard  to  the  use  of  wine  and  spirits.  It  is  a  habit  that 
often  grows  quickly  to  dangerous  proportions,  and,  what 
is  moi-t  strange,  the  one  who  acquires  and  practises  it  to 
excess  is  the  one  who  is  the  last  to  realize  it.' 

'I  do  not  fear  it,'  replied  the  young  priest.  'If  I 
should  find  it  were  getting  the  better  of  me,  I  could  and 
would  leave  it  off  instantly.' 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  this  subject. 

'Have  you  written  home  since  you  were  ordained?' 
asked  Tom. 


176  m  FETTERS: 

'  I  have  not,'  was  the  reply.  '  But  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  write,  and  let  our  parents  know  about  it.' 

'  Then  I  think  you  should  write  tonight.  The  mail 
leaves  in  the  morning.  I  have  pens  and  paper.  Why 
not  write  this  afternoon  — after  dinner  —  and  I  will  mail 
it  with  mine  in  the  morning?  Besides  letters  to  father 
and  mother,  I  shall  write  to  Master  Cluney,  and  shall  also 
send  a  letter  to  the  Times,  descriptive  of  the  service  at 
St.  Peter's  church  today.' 

This  was  agreed  to,  and,  after  dinner,  Richard  wrote  a 
letter  to  his  parents,  which  he  gave  to  his  brother  to 
mail.  Then  he  went  off  to  attend  vesper  services  at  the 
church  of  the  Propaganda,  leaving  Tom  alone  to  finish 
his  correspondence. 

On  Monday  morning,  Dr.  Gaston  called  on  Tom,  and 
both  went  to  the  hotel  where  Richard  was.  The  three 
then  proceeded  to  take  a  view  of  the  city,  from  the  tower 
which  crowns  the  capitol,  on  the  Capitoline  hill.  Here 
the  various  historic  places  were  pointed  out:  the  Forum 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill;  the  ruins  of  the  palace  of  the 
Gesars,  on  Mount  Palatine,  opposite;  the  ruins  of  the 
Coliseum  at  the  foot  of  that  hill ;  the  various  grand 
ancient  baths  —  of  Caracalla,  of  Titus,  and  of  Diocletian; 
and  in  fact  all  of  the  bewildering  array  of  historic 
objects  to  be  seen  from  this  vantage-ground  in  that  most 
historic  city  of  the  world,  which  had  survived  the 
vicissitudes  of  empires  and  dynasties,  but  retained 
features  of  each  and  all  of  them  —  all  these  were  viewed. 

Here  were  seen  the  monuments  of  the  heroes  and 
demi-gods  among  men !  Here  was,  in  one  respect,  the 
cradle  of  much  of  the  literature  and  many  of  the  arts 
and  sciences  of  the  modern  world.  Here  dwelt  the  titans 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  177 

of  the  human  race — the  masters  of  the  world,  in  their 
time.  In  this  splendid  view,  Thomas  Gaston  felt  that  he 
had  realized  the  dream  of  his  youth. 

The  doctor  pointed  out  the  various  historic  objects, 
and  rapidly  outlined  their  history,  like  one  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  salient  features  of  the  panorama.  When 
the  doctor  had  finished,  promising  to  give  details  in  the 
visits  with  the  brothers  to  the  various  points  indicated, 
Tom  said,  reflectively: 

'Doctor,  it  is  grand!  But  there  is  a  sadness  of  heart  in 
contemplating  it.  It  curiously  illustrates  the  paradox  of 
existsnce,  in  the  fact  that  nothing  so  strongly  proves 
man's  littleness  as  his  greatness.  Here,  a  magnificent 
civilization  was  built  up,  after  centuries  of  progressive 
effort.  Then,  when  luxury  and  the  ambitious  rivalries 
of  the  great  men  had  weakened  the  nation,  the  hordes  of 
a  barbaric  king  in  seven  days  reduced  it  to  a  heap  of 
smouldering  ruins. 

'The  conquerors  were,  in  their  turn,  conquered — and 
this  seems  equally  strange- — by  the  ghostly  power;  by 
the  representatives  of  the  kingdom  which  is  not  of  this 
world.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  doctor, '  and  this  ghostly  power  has  not 
only  spread  the  gospel  of  Christianity  throughout  the 
world,  but  its  missionaries  have  carried  the  literature,  art 
and  science  of  Rome  into  every  nation.' 

'That  is  true,'  replied  Tom,  'but,  while  aiding  in  this 
way,  it  has  enslaved  as  well  as  enlightened.  It  has 
cultivated  the  intellect,  but  at  the  same  time  has  fettered 
the  mind.  In  this  once  glorious  country,  I  should  say, 
the  common  people  have  grown  gray  in  suffering  under 
despotic  rule.  It  is  now  a  country  of  princes  and 


178  IN  FETTERS: 

of  beggars;  of  toilers  who  work,  and  of  idlers  who  pray. 
Perhaps,'  added  Tom,  smiling  at  the  conceit,  '  if  the 
praying  part  of  the  people  would  work  more,  and  the 
workers  had  more  leisure  to  improve  their  minds,  there 
might  be  a  better  condition  of  things  brought  about.' 

The  doctor  smiled,  and  said:  'Nephew  —  allow  me 
to  cajl  you  that,  for  convenience  —  you  are  original,  at 
least,  in  your  mode  of  thinking,  and  this,  I  judge,  comes 
from  your  American  habit  of  thought,  which  is  utilitarian. 
In  one  respect,  however,  you  are  right.  In  Italy  there 
are  too  many  ecclesiastics  —  too  many  monks  —  resident, 
I  mean.  It  has  become  the  fashion  to  devote  at  least  one 
of  a  family  —  sometimes  it  is  several  —  to  the  service  of 
the  church.  This  has  become  so  great  a  feature  of  the 
Italian  social  condition  that  political  economists  are 
beginning  to  see  the  evil  of  it  in  an  economic  sense. 
Where  the  priests  of  the  church  are  active  workers,  and 
do  practical  good  among  the  people,  it  is  all  right.  But 
where  they  simply  live  in  communities,  for  the  gratifica 
tion  of  their  own  personal  selfishness  —  however  good  it 
may  be  —  the  conviction  is  abroad  that  the  result  is  not 
really  good  for  the  nation,  and  the  Italian  nationalists  are 
extremely  exercised  and  restless  in  regard  to  it,  and 
many  of  the  leaders  are  driven  into  infidelity  as  a  conse 
quence;  for,  once  the  utility  of  an  institution  comes  into 
question,  its  sacred  character  itself  becomes  open  to 
criticism.' 

Thomas  Gaston  was  so  fascinated  with  Rome  that  he 
remained  there  for  two  weeks,  going  either  alone  or  with 
his  brother,  or  with  Dr.  Gaston,  or  both,  to  various  points 
of  interest,  and  enjoying  his  visit  to  the  Eternal  City  in 
the  best  and  most  practical  way,  for  if  Tom  was  anything 


THE    MAN   OK   THE   PRIEST?  179 

he  was  practical.  He  spent  many  pleasant  evenings  in 
the  house  of  Dr.  Gaston,  and  was  pleased  with  his 
daughter,  who  was  a  very  intelligent  and  unsentimental 
young  lady,  and  was  very  sensible  and  practical,  without 
being  unfeminine. 

Richard  seemed  wedded  to  Rome.  To  him  it  was  a 
Mecca,  indeed,  and  his  brother  could  see  that  he  would 
only  leave  it  with  an  effort. 

The  time  came  for  departure,  however,  and  for  mutual 
regrets.  Arrangements  for  correspondence  with  Dr. 
Gaston  and  his  daughter,  and  with  his  brother  were  made 
by  Tom ;  and  one  beautiful  morning  in  September, 
Thomas  Gaston  bade  adieu  to  Rome,  and  turned  his  face 
westward  toward  his  Mecca,  which  was  Boston. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

UNWELCOME  NEWS  AT  CHEBUCTO ITS    EFFECT  ON  MB. 

WARDEN — AGNES'  RESOLVE. 

It  was  an  evening  in  the  early  part  of  October,  and  a 
fine  autumn  day  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  steamer 
had  arrived  in  Chebucto  with  the  mail,  and  among  the 
impatient  waiters  on  the  outside  for  its  distribution  was 
merchant  Gaston.  With  him  was  James  Warden,  now 
his  warm  friend.  The  latter  had  rallied  in  his  business 
affairs,  and  it  looked  as  if  his  trouble  was  nearly  over. 
He  expected  good  news  from  his  agents  in  London  in  the 
mail  that  just  came  in. 


180  IN  FETTERS: 

'I  do  hope,'  he  said  to  Mr.  Gaston,  'that  you  will  have 
good  news  from  the  boys  in  Rome.  It  will  please  me 
more  than  I  can  tell  to  learn  that  Tom  has  arrived  in 
time  to  save  Richard  from  becoming  a  priest.' 

'It  will  please  all,'  replied  Mr.  Gaston.  'Even  my 
wife  is  now  warmly  interested  in  the  matter,  and  she 
loves  Agnes  like  a  daughter.' 

The  mail  was  at  length  delivered,  and  Richard  Gaston 
had  two  letters  postmarked  "Roma" — one  in  Tom's 
handwriting,  and  the  other  in  Richard's.  JamesWarden 
had  also  the  expected  letter  from  his  London  agent. 
But  he  did  not  open  it,  preferring,  first,  to  hear  of  the 
course  of  events  in  Rome. 

Richard  Gaston  opened  Tom's  letter,  and  the  first  line 
gave  him  the  whole  story  in  a  few  words  —  'I  was  too 
late.  Dick  has  become  a  priest.'  His  hand  trembled, 
and  his  face  showed  deep  emotion. 

'The  news  is  bad,  I  see,'  said  Warden. 

'It  is,'  replied  Gaston.  'Dick  has  taken  the  irrevo 
cable  step  —  he  has  been  ordained  a  priest.' 

'  God  help  Agnes ! '  exclaimed  Mr.  Warden.     '  And  me,' 

he  added  bitterly.     '  It  is  I  who  am  responsible  for  it  all 

—for  the    wreck  of   their   happiness!'  and   he   turned 

about,    and,    with   a  drooping    head,  wended   his    way 

homeward. 

Agnes  and  her  mother  were  on  the  lookout  for  Mr. 
Warden,  as  they  expected  he  would  see  Mr.  Gaston,  and 
learn  if  he  had  received  news  from  Rome.  When  they 
saw  him  approaching,  with  bowed  head  and  spiritless 
gait,  their  woman's  wit  divined  that  bad  news  had  been 
received — bad  news  for  Agnes. 

When  Mr.  Warden  entered  the  house,  he  found  the 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  181 

ladies  awaiting  him;  and  was  puzzled  what  to  say  or  do. 
He  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  it  all,  but  evaded  direct 
knowledge  of  what  had  happened,  by  saying  — 

'I  fear  Mr.  Gaston  has  received  unwelcome  news, 
judging  from  the  expression  of  his  face,  when  he  opened 
his  letter  and  glanced  at  it  in  the  post-office.' 

That  was  all  he  said,  and  neither  his  wife  nor  Agnes 
cared  to  ask  him  any  questions.  Agnes,  however,  was 
bound  to  know  the  truth,  and,  leaving  the  room  quietly, 
she  slipped  out  of  the  house,  and  went  to  the  Gaston 
mansion. 

Here  she  found  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gaston  in  the  sitting 
room.  The  former  had  just  finished  reading  the  letters 
he  had  received  to  his  wife,  who  was  in  tears.  When 
Agnes  entered  the  room,  and  saw  the  condition  of  affairs, 
she  guessed  the  full  truth.  Hope  had  in  the  last  few 
weeks  restored  the  delicate  pink  roses  of  health  to  her 
face ;  but  now  it  was  deathly  pale.  Mrs.  Gaston  looked 
up  at  her  as  she  entered,  and  seeing  that  she  was  already 
in  misery,  opened  her  womanly  heart  and  arms  to  her, 
and  Agnes  sank  into  those  arms,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  the  poor  girl,  for 
her  heart  had  been  almost  bursting  with  suppressed 
emotion,  and  this  was  her  first  break-down. 

Mr.  Gaston  looked  at  the  two  weeping  women  for 
some  minutes  in  silence,  until  they  grew  somewhat  calm. 
Then  he  said — 

'  My  poor  Agnes,  you  have  come  over  to  share  our 
sorrow,  and  it  is  proper  that  you  should.  Our  mutual 
sorrow  should  be  shared  in  common.' 

'  Oh ! '  said  Agnes,  in  agony.  '  I  feel  that  this  is  a  judg 
ment  on  me,  for  being  so  set  with  Richard  in  the  matter. 


182  IN  FETTERS: 

I  believed  too  strongly  in  obedience  to  my  father's 
behest.  But  my  eyes  are  now  opened.  I  should  have 
told  him  to  wait,  and  might  have  forseen  that  my  father's 
cruel  enmity  would  not  last  always.  But  it  is  too  late  to 
repine,'  she  said,  drying  her  tears.  '  We  must  now  do 
all  we  can  to  sustain  him  in  the  holy  office  he  has 
assumed.' 

'  I  think  there  was  more  or  less  of  fault  on  Richard's 
part,  also,'  said  Mr.  Gaston.  ']  will  say  nothing  against 
your  father  now,  Agnes.  He  seems  to  feel  the  full  force 
of  the  punishment,  and  takes  it  to  heart  greatly.  I  sin 
cerely  pity  him.' 

'So  do  I,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston,  'though  he  never  had  any 
good  reason  for  his  enmity  to  us.  But  I  forgive  him,  and 
hope  God  will.  The  only  feeling  I  now  have  about  it  is 
that,  if  it  were  not  for  his  enmity,  you,  my  dear,  would 
have  a  good  man  for  a  husband,  while  I  would  have  a 
daughter  in  you.  He  has  prevented  it.' 

'  Well,  mother,'  said  Agnes,  '  and  you  will  please  let 
me  call  you  mother,  —  there  is  no  helping  what  has 
happened.  We  have  all  erred  somewhat — I  more  than 
Richard — but  it  cannot  be  helped.  We  must  try  to 
make  life  happy  to  him,  by  aiding  and  encouraging  him 
in  the  work  he  will  do.' 

'  Well,'  said  the  mother,  '  I  hope  we  shall,'  and  she 
sighed. 

'  You  do  not  purpose,  then,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  to  Agnes, 
'  to  renounce  interest  in  the  world?' 

'  No ;  I  shall  keep  on  as  I  am,'  si.ld  Agnes.  '  Father 
and  mother  will  require  my  services  while  they  live,  and 
I  can  look  after  them,  and  still  have  time  to  spare  to  help 
and  encourage  Richard  in  his  good  work.  If  I  can't  be 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  183 

his  wife,  I  can  be  his  helper.  If  he  has  a  mission,  why 
cannot  I  have  one  in  conjunction  with  him?' 

'  Then  you  still  love  him?'  asked  Mr.  Gaston.  'And 
is  it  possible  that  you  would  ever  think  of  another?' 

'  Never,  sir,'  she  replied.  '  It  is  not  my  nature  to  be 
changeable.  I  can  love  but  one,  and  once  only.' 

'  It  is  a  pity,'  he  said,  '  that  the  world  was  not  made 
up  of  people  like  you.  Affection,  sincerity,  and  constancy 
are  three  cardinal  virtues.' 

'  I  hope,  when  he  comes  home,  Richard  will  never 
hear  of  the  plan  to  recall  him  from  the  priesthood,'  said 
Agnes,  after  she  had  read  the  letters  of  the  brothers, 
which  the  father  had  handed  to  her. 

'  I  sincerely  hope  he  will  not,'  chimed  in  the  mother, 
'for  he  is  a  peculiar  boy  —  not  like  Tom,  who  is  made  of 
iron  — -  and  the  knowledge  of  such  a  thing  might  upset 
him.' 

'  I  think,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  '  that  the  facts  in  the  case 
are  not  known  here  outside  of  our  families,  and  not 
likely  to  be,  so  we  need  not  fear  any  trouble  from  that 
source.' 

In  conversation  like  this  these  good  people  gradually 
talked  themselves  into  a  kind  of  philosophically-resigned 
condition  of  mind;  and,  after  an  hour  spent  in  discussing 
the  situation,  Agnes  returned  home  feeling  much  better 
and  stronger  in  faith  and  purpose  than  when  she  had 
left  it. 

She  could  see  that,  beginning  with  her  father's  foolish 
enmity  towards  Mr.  Gaston,  there  had  been  a  series  of 
blunders,  first,  on  her  part,  and  then  on  Richard's  in 
being  so  impatient  and  hopeless  of  delay.  But  Agnes 
had  strong  common  sense,  and,,  now  that  her  lover  was 


184  IN  FETTERS: 

lost  to  her  forever  as  a  husband,  he  could  still  be  her 
friend,  and  she  a  friend  to  him.  In  his  company  she 
could  still  be  happy,  and  then  it  was  a  consolation  to 
know  that  no  other  woman  would  possess  him. 

Yes ;  she  would  still  cling  to  him  —  to  the  life-interests 
of  her  own  family  and  of  his.  She  would  marry  no 
other  man ;  neither  would  she  ever  renounce  the  world. 
In  fact>  she  began  already  to  feel  a  kind  of  bitterness 
against  the  church  which  had  taken  her  lover  from  her. 
And  she  contrasted  the  life  of  a  priest  with  that  of  a 
minister  of  the  Protestant  faith,  who  could  take  a  wife 
and  surrouud  himself  with  all  the  blessings  of  humanity, 
which  a  celibate  could  never  enjoy.  Did  God,  she  asked 
herself,  require  such  a  sacrifice?  If  he  did,  she  could 
not  see  the  justice  of  it.  Must  a  priest  be  forever 
debarred  from  the  pleasures  of  affection  —  the  joys  of 
paternity  ? 

The  more  she  studied  this  subject,  the  more  her  heart 
rebelled  against  a  system  of  what  seemed  to  be  ecclesi 
astical  tyranny.  She  little  understood  that  stern,  relent 
less  system  of  usage  and  discipline  which  treats  the  men 
in  the  ranks  of  the  Catholic  priesthood  as  so  many  parts 
of  a  complex  machine,  whose  functions  are  clearly  defined, 
and  whose  efficiency  is  estimated  in  exact  proportion  to 
the  manner  in  which  the  fundimental  principle  of  their 
connection  with  the  army  of  the  church  is  observed, 
namely,  obedience.  For.  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  priest 
is  held  to  the  same  order  and  discipline  that  the  soldier 
is,  and  hence  his  efficiency,  or  rather  the  efficiency  and 
power  of  the  grand  but  heartless  church  government  to 
which  he  is  subject. 

On  entering  her  home,  Agnes  found  her  father  and 


THE    MAN   OB    THE    PRIEST?  185 

mother  in  earnest  conversation.  Her  mother  had 
evidently  been  weeping,  for  her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen.  Her  father  appeared  more  than  usually  de 
pressed.  He  said  to  his  daughter: 

'  Well,  Agnes,  I  suppose  you  know  the  worst.' 

*  Yes,  father.  The  news  is  bad,  but  repining  will  not 
help  it.  I  think  we'd  better  make  the  best  of  the  situa 
tion  ;  and  go  on,  as  if  mistakes  were  not  beyond  remedy.' 

1 1  am  glad  to  hear  you  talk  so  bravely  and  sensibly, 
Agnes,'  said  the  father.  'It  will  enable  me  to  bear  up 
better.  But  do  you  know,  my  dear,  that  I  also  have  had 
bad  news  by  the  mail  ?  It  seems  as  if  the  devil  of  bad 
luck  were  in  close  pursuit  of  my  vessels;  the  one  that 
was  sold — or  rather  would  have  been  when  she  returned 
from  a  voyage  to  Leghorn  —  has  been  lost,  and  instead 
of  getting  five  thousand  pounds  for  her,  I  have  a 
prospect  of  getting  only  about  two  thousand,  insurance. 
Well,  after  it  is  settled,  out  of  whatever  I  get,  Richard 
Gaston  must  be  paid,  first  and  foremost.  But  —  if  things 
go  on  much  longer  as  they  have  gone  of  late — I  fear 
you  will  see  me  bankrupt  before  six  months  have  passed 
away.' 

'I  hope  not  —  oh,  that  would  be  terrible,'  said  Mrs. 
Warden. 

'I  hope  not,  too,'  said  Agnes,  '  but  if  it  should  come,  I 
would  not  flinch.  We  can  better  bear  poverty  than  dis 
grace  any  time.  But,  dear  father,  I  hope  things  are 
not  so  bad  and  gloomy  as  you  think  they  are.' 

'They  are  bad  enough,  Agnes,  and  I  have  not  the 
vigor  to  face  reverses  which  I  had  some  years  ago ; 
and  then,  I  do  not  feel  so  hopeful;  but  I  will  struggle 
and  do  the  best  I  can.  The  business  outlook,  however, 


186  IN    FETTEKS: 

added  to  the  other  trouble  for  which  I  am  mainly 
responsible,  has  practically  unnerved  me.  I  now  feel 
humiliated  and  ashamed  of  what  I  have  done.' 

Agnes  rose,  impulsively,  and,  going  over  to  her  father, 
put  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

'Father,'  she  said,  'do  not  feel  unhappy  on  my 
account.  It  will  do  no  good.  I  shall  remember,  to  my 
dying  day,  how  ready  you  were,  when  you  came  to  your 
own  self,  to  undo  if  possible  what  had  been  done.  But 
fate  has  been  against  us.  It  is  the  will  of  God,  and  who 
can  properly  murmur  at  that.  He  orders  all  things  for 
the  best,  we  are  told,  and  it  would  be  a  sin  to  repine.  I 
have  accepted  the  cross,  and  will  bear  it  patiently.  I 
shall  do  all  that  I  can  to  make  you  and  mother  happy 
while  we  live.' 

'We  cannot  ask  such  a  sacrifice  from  you,'  said  Mr. 
Warden.  'You  can  marry,  and  marry  well,  Agnes;  and 
it  would  not  be  right  to  have  you  refuse  a  good  position 
in  life  for  two  old  people,  who  would  in  any  event  be 
dear  to  you.' 

'  Father,'  replied  Agnes,  '  I  will  not  marry.  My  duty 
is  with  you  and  mother,  and  I  shall  fulfil  it.  As  to 
marrying  well,'  she  added,  with  a  sadness  in  her  tone, 
'  even  if  I  should  want  to  marry  at  all,  it  would  be 
different  as  to  whether  I  was  the  daughter  of  rich  James 
Warden,  or  of  James  Warden  the  bankrupt.  The  young 
men  who  might  want  to  marry  the  one  would,  perhaps, 
hardly  care  to  marry  the  other.  No.  The  die  is  cast. 
I  stay  with  you,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  for  many  years.' 

'  God  bless  you,  my  daughter,'  said  Warden. 

'Agnes,'  said  the  mother,  'I  am  sorry  for  your 
decision;  but  I  know  you  will  live  up  to  it,  so  it  is 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  187 

perhaps  best  to  say  nothing  more  about  it.  Let  us  make 
the  best  of  things,  and  do  all  we  can  to  cheer  and  help 
your  father.  He  has  need  of  it.' 

Now  that  Warden  showed  signs  of  weakness,  his  wife 
began  to  assume  an  individuality  which  before  had  been 
merged  into  his.  She  and  Agnes  were  now  the  strong 
members  of  the  firm,  at  least  in  the  matter  of  giving  tone 
and  hopefulness  to  the  mind  of  the  man,  who,  but  a  few 
months  before,  possessed  the  supreme  will  of  the 
family.' 

John  Cluney,  who,  of  course,  was  in  the  family  secrets 
of  the  Gaston  and  Warden  families,  so  far  as  the  matter 
of  the  affairs  between  the  younger  members  was 
concerned,  called  at  the  Gaston  mansion  shortly  after 
Agnes  had  left. 

'  The  news  from  Rome  is  bad,'  said  Mr.  Gaston  in 
reply  to  a  question  from  Cluney,  if  he  had  received 
letters.  '  It  is  all  over  with  Richard,  so  far  as  marriage 
is  concerned.  He  was  ordained  before  Tom  arrived.' 

'Yes;  Tom  wrote  me  to  that  effect.  Does  Agnes  know 
of  it?'  asked  the  schoolmaster,  'and  how  did  she  take  it?' 
he  further  asked  when  a  nod  indicated  that  she  had. 

'  She  took  it  bravely,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  '  after  the  first 
burst  of  feeling  was  over,'  and  then  he  described  the 
scene  which  occurred  shortly  before  Cluney  came  in. 

'  That  was  noble,'  replied  the  schoolmaster,  '  but  just 
like  her.  She  has  more  bravery,  more  character,  than 
any  girl  I  have  ever  met.  She  will  not  marry  anyone, 
now  that  Richard  is  beyond  her  reach.  But  she  will  do 
just  what  she  says  she  will ;  be  a  good  and  sustaining 
friend  to  him.'  He  added  to  himself,  '  but  I  hope  not  a 
dangerous  one.' 


188  IN    FETTEKS: 

'  Richard  must  never  know  how  near  he  was  to 
happiness,  and  missed  it,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston.  '  It  would 
upset  him,  I  fear,  if  he  did.' 

'  He  must  never  know  it  —  at  least  for  many  years,' 
said  Cluney.  'Time,  and  the  formation  of  the  priestly 
habit,  will  no  doubt  reconcile  him  to  fate,  in  the  end.' 

Cluney  did  not  tell  of  the  discovery  by  Tom  of  the 
verses  which  Richard  had  written  to  Agnes.  He  thought 
it  better  to  suppress  that  fact,  for  a  knowledge  of  it  by 
the  parents  would  do  no  good,  and  might  create  appre 
hension  in  their  minds. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    RETURN     HOME    OF    TUB     YOUNG    PRIEST HIS   FIRST 

MASS,  AND    HIS    SERMON. 

Chebucto,  1852.  It  was  near  the  latter  part  of  June, 
when  the  summer  garments  of  the  forests  and  fields  were 
a  soft  and  lovely  green. 

In  those  northern  latitudes  there  is  practically  no 
spring,  the  transition  from  winter  being  rapid  and 
wonderful,  which  can  be  accounted  for  in  part  by  the 
fact  that  the  length  of  day  is  from  sixteen  to  eighteen 

hours. 

Vegetation  at  this  season  is  very  rapid.  In  a  week 
from  the  opening  of  the  buds  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
attain  half  their  growth,  and  grass  grows  into  a  surpris 
ing  luxuriance  in  a  few  days.  In  the  cultivated  fields, 


189 

oats,  barley  and  wheat  hid  the  reddish  soil, -the  potato 
stalks  were  just  above  ground,  and  the  cherry  trees  in 
the  gardens  were  still  hardly  out  of  blossom.  In  the 
meadows  the  strawberry  blooms  lightened  the  green. 

It  was  Sunday  forenoon  and  the  church  bells  were 
tolling  the  hour  of  service.  Among  the  Catholic 
worshippers  all  were  agog.  A  new  priest  was  to 
celebrate  mass,  and  this  priest  had  been  a  boy  who  had 
grown  up  among  them. 

Rev.  Richard  Gaston,  and  his  brother,  Dr.  Thomas 
Gaston,  had  arrived  home  two  days  before,  and  it  was 
known  that  Father  Tom  McMahon  had  invited  the 
young  priest  to  celebrate  high  mass  on  that  day,  and 
great  was  the  expectation  in  consequence. 

Before  the  hour  of  service,  many  of  the  parishoners 
were  on  hand  to  meet  the  young  ecclesiastic.  They  all 
knew  him,  and  liked  him,  as  well  for  his  own  sake  as  for 
that  of  his  father.  After  a  while  the  young  priest,  in 
company  with  Father  McMahon,  came  down  the  lane 
from  the  parsonage  to  the  church.  The  contrast  between 
the  two  priests  was  great.  Father  Tom  was  medium- 
sized,  fat  and  stumpy,  with  fat  cheeks,  florid  complexion, 
small  red  eyes,  carroty  hair  tinged  with  gray  —  he  was 
over  sixty  —  and  a  short,  turned-up  nose.  Richard 
Gaston  —  well,  the  reader  will  remember  how  he  looked. 
He  was  indeed  a  handsome  fellow,  too  handsome  to  be  a 
priest. 

As  the  two  ecclesiastics  approached  the  people  in 
front  of  the  church,  the  young  one  ran  his  eyes  over  the 
well-remembered  faces  of  all  who  had  collected  there, 
and  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  shone  in  his  eyes  as  he  noted 
how  strong  and  friendly  an  interest  was  manifested  in 


190  IN  FETTEKS: 

him  by  all.  They  came  forward  spontaneously,  many  of 
them  hat  in  hand,  and  bade  him  a  warm  welcome. 

To  these  he  said :  '  Put  on  your  hats,  gentlemen.  I 
have  done  nothing  as  yet  to  merit  such  peculiar  respect. 
You  are  the  older,  and  it  is  I  who  ought  to  take  my  hat 
off  to  you.'  Handshaking  and  greetings  over,  the  young 
man  started  to  go  into  the  church.  In  the  vestibule  he 
encountered  many  of  the  women  of  the  parish,  nearly  all 
of  whom  he  knew,  and  warmly  -  greeted ;  the  younger 
ones  he  simply  passed  with  a  pleasant  word.  Among 
the  former  was  Mrs.  Warden.  He  stopped  to  speak 
with  her. 

'Mrs.  Warden,'  he  said,  'I  do  not  see  your  husband 
here,  and  want  to  inquire  about  his  health,  for  I  hear  he 
has  not  been  very  well.' 

'He  is  not  here  now,'  said  Mrs.  Warden,  'but  will  try 
to  be  up  in  time  for  mass.  He  is  not  well;  and  is  low 
spirited.' 

'  I  hope  he  will  soon  be  all  right,'  said  Richard.  Then 
turning  to  Agnes,  who  stood  beside  her  mother,  he  took 
her  hand  in  his — a  hand  that  trembled  —  and  looked 
into  her  Madonna-like  face  and  eyes:  'Agnes,'  he  said, 
'I  am  glad  to  meet  you  here,  and  hope  to  hear  your 
voice  in  the  choir  float  above  all  the  others,  as  it  did  in 
the  time  past.  It  will  be  a  great  encouragement  to  me.' 

'  Then  it  will  float  above  the  others,'  said  Agnes,  'for 
I  want  it  to  help  you.' 

'  God  bless  you,  Agnes,'  he  said,  and  passed  into  the 
church. 

While  the  young  priest  was  robing  himself  for  the 
ceremony  of  the  mass,  which  he  was  to  celebrate,  the 
choir  began  singing  one  of  those  glorious  compositions, 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  191 

those  noble  hymns,  which  make  the  services  in  Catholic 
churches  —  even  with  all  the  apparently  absurd  kneel- 
ings,  standing  up  and  sitting  down  at  frequent  intervals, 
genuflections,.etc. —  not  only  tolerable  but  even  enjoyable 
to  the  lover  of  good  music.  The  music,  from  violin, 
clarionet  and  flute,  was  none  of  the  best  —  there  was  no 
organ — but  the  singing  was  good  enough  to  cause  the 
majestic  notes  of  the  anthem  to  sweep  up  the  nave  and 
aisles  of  the  church  to  the  chancel  in  throbbing  waves  of 
devotional  harmony.  In  this  hymn,  high  above  all 
voices,  and  yet  in  harmony  with  them,  was  a  full,  rich 
soprano  voice  —  a  voice  which  the  young  priest  remem 
bered  only  too  well,  for  he,  too,  when  a  youth,  sang  the 
tenor  part  to  it  in  the  same  choir.  The  voice,  however, 
was  now  fuller,  richer,  and  its  tones  were  further 
enhanced  by  an  accent  of  melancholy,  which,  in  certain 
of  the  prolonged  notes  gave  it  a  wailing  sound,  as  if  it 
expressed  the  hopeless  feeling  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  young  priest  involuntarily  cast  his  eyes  up  to  the 
choir  in  the  end  gallery,  just  as  the  hymn  was  closing, 
and  saw  the  eyes  of  Agnes  Warden,  the  soprano,  fixed 
on  him,  with  an  expression  of  rapt  devotion  in  them.  It 
disturbed  him,  and  brought  a  flood  of  memories  to  his 
brain  and  the  blood  to  his  face.  He  realized  that  if  he 
gave  way  to  his  emotion  he  could  not  perform  his  office 
in  celebrating  the  mass  without  betraying  an  unseemly 
feeling.  This  he  was  bound  should  not  occur,  and, 
though  deeply  stirred,  by  a  supreme  effort  of  the  will  he 
became  master  of  himself,  and  when  the  hymn  closed,  he 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  altar,  and  after  the  usual 
genuflection,  turned  toward  the  congregation,  and  reso 
lutely  keeping  his  eyes  away  from  the  choir  gallery, 


192  IN  FETTERS: 

uttered,  in  a  full,  musical  voice  the  "  Dominus  vobiscum," 
of  mass  ceremony.  The  response  of  the  choir,  "  Et  cum 
spiritutuo"  ("  The  Lord  be  with  you."  Response,  "and 
with  thy  spirit.")  The  grand  soprano  yoice  seemed 
endowed  with  new  inspiration  in  this,  as  in  the  other 
responses  of  the  choir,  throughout  the  mass;  but  the 
young  priest,  though  he  felt  thrilled  by  the  devotion 
embodied  in  the  tones  of  that  voice,  now  appeared  to 
draw  inspiration  from  it  rather  than  disturbance.  It 
seemed  to  say  to  him,  by  a  kind  of  magic  influence,  "my 
love  shall  aid  you  in  your  holy  office  of  worship  and 
sacrifice !  It  will  lift  up  your  heart  —  not  pull  it  down 
to  the  gross  things  of  the  world!"  and  he  felt  a  new 
strength  and  new  courage  as  he  proceeded  with  the 
celebration  of  the  mass,  which  in  his  hands  was  almost  a 
revelation  to  the  people  who  had  been  accustomed  to  the 
ministrations  of  Father  Me  Mahon,  with  his  unmusical 
and  grunting  voice,  and  ungraceful  manner.  The  old 
priest  noted  the  contrast  as  well  as  his  congregation,  and 
could  not  conceal  a  look  of  chagrin,  which,  however, 
few  noticed,  the  general  attention  being  so  absorbed  by 
the  new  priest. 

At  the  close  of  the  mass  the  young  priest  removed  the 
chasuble,  or  outer  garment,  and  turning  to  the  congrega 
tion,  prepared  to  give  them  a  sermon  —  a  thing  they 
were  usually  greeted  with  by  Father  Me  Mahon  only 
about  three  times  a  year. 

lie  stood  in  front  of  the  altar  —  there  being  no  pulpit 
in  the  church  —  with  his  right  hand  raised,  and  his  head 
thrown  back.  In  this  position  he  remained  for  about 
half  a  minute,  silent  and  immoveable.  Then  he  said : 

'Dear  friends  of  my  youth,  and  congregation  of  God's 


THE   MAN   OR   THE    PKIEST?  193 

chnrch  —  It  is  perhaps  meet  that  I  should  say  something 
to  you  on  this  my  first  celebration  of  holy  mass.  My 
remarks  will,  perhaps,  be  in  the  nature  of  a  sermon,  and 
they  will  be  inspired  by  the  contemplation  of  the  life  of 
Jesus,  and  his  promise  of  immortality,  and  a  place  with 
him  in  paradise  —  heaven  —  on  the  day  of  his  death. 

'The  text  is  to  be  found  in  the  42d  and  43d  verses  of 
the  23d  chapter  of  St.  Luke.  While  on  the  cross,  one 
of  the  thieves  reviled  the  Saviour,  but  the  other  rebuked 
him,  and  said  unto  Jesus,  "  Lord,  remember  me  when 
thou  comest  into  thy  kingdom."  And  Jesus  said  unto 
him,  "Verily,!  say  unto  you,  today  thou  shalt  be  with 
me  in  paradise." 

'  Now,  in  this,  Jesus  illustrated  two  vital  things  — 
vital  to  erring  humanity.  One  was  that  true  repentance 
is  never  too  late ;  and  the  other  —  and  this  is  of  the 
highest  importance  —  that  there  is  a  hereafter,  an 
immortality,  and  a  place  wherein  that  immortality  is 
passed.  From  this  it  can  be  seen  that  immortality  is  not 
the  mere  idea,  arising  from  hope,  which  materialists  say 
it  is,  but  a  natural  thing  to  those  who  believe  God's 
promise,  made  through  his  only  begotten  son  to  man 
kind. 

'The  heaven  he  promises  us,  therefore,  is  not  the 
mere  figment  of  the  imagination,  but  an  actuality  as  real 
as  this  life  is.  The  question  now  naturally  arises,  how 
shall  we  pass  the  eternity  of  happiness  in  heaven  ?  Will 
it  be  in  idleness?  No.  Simply  in  praising  God,  by 
mouth  exercise?  Manifestly  no.  The  eternity  of  exist 
ence  cannot  be  of  idleness  and  continual  praise,  but  must 
be  one  of  effort.  Of  what  kind  ?  God,  who  is  perfect 
and  self-sustaining,  needs  no  service  from  us  for  his  own 


194  IN    FETTEBSi 

benefit.  Who  then  shall  we  serve,  and  find  occupation 
in  doing  so?  Who,  but  one  another!  In  other  words, 
our  happiness  in  heaven  will  consist  in  serving  one 
another  and  making  one  another  happy. 

'How  shall  we  do  this?  By  kind  and  generous  deeds, 
by  considerate  and  friendly  treatment,  by  doing  nothing 
that  will  offend,  or  make  sad  any  living  soul.  As  we  do 
to  them  they  will  do  to  us.  The  happiness  which  we 
impart  we  also  receive.  We  are  just,  and  we  receive 
justice;  we  are  cheerful,  and  receive  good  cheer;  we  are 
loving,  and  receive  love  in  return ;  we  are  considerate, 
and  we  receive  consideration ;  we  offend  not,  and  we 
are  not  offended;  we  are  hopeful,  and  we  meet  with 
hopefulness ;  we  busy  ourselves  in  serving  those  we  come 
in  contact  with,  and  they  in  turn  serve  us;  the  word 
charity  as  with  us  is  unknown,  because  all  are  on  equality, 
all  are  equally  sustained  by  God,  and  all  act  in  unison  in 
their  good  work  and  good  will  toward  one  another,  by 
which  they  best  praise  his  holy  name. 

'  What  I  desire  to  call  your  attention  to  is  this,  that 
as  such  conduct  as  I  have  here  outlined  is  evidently  that 
which  can  alone  secure  perfect  happiness  in  the  life  to 
come,  it  is  the  one  which  should  be  adopted  to  secure 
the  best  enjoyment  in  this  life.  This  is  the  mode  of 
living  which  Christ  taught,  and  you  can  see  how  logical 
it  was,  for  the  practice  of  it  here  simply  fits  us  for  the 
practice  of  it  in  the  world  to  come. 

'  To  be  sure,  the  harmony  of  such  a  life  here  is  broken 
by  the  discord  of  passion,  cruelty,  selfishness,  and  the 
misery  that  results  from  them  —  things  that  need  not 
and  should  not  exist.  But  we  can  try  to  keep  our  own 
lives  harmonious,  and  if  there  is  discord,  let  it  be  by 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  195 

some  one  else.  We  can  try  to  love  our  enemies  and  do 
good  to  those  who  would  injure  us,  which  would  be 
forgiveness  of  the  most  practical  kind.  Christ  showed 
us  by  his  life  the  model  of  living.  His  was,  under  the 
conditions  in  which  he  existed,  the  model  life  of  a  good 
man.  He  offended  no  man  willingly,  and  did  all  the 
good  that  lay  in  his  power.  He  was  just,  merciful  and 
helpful.  All  these  we  can  also  be,  and  if  we  practised 
these  virtues  we  should  be  not  only  happier  ourselves, 
but  would  impart  happiness  to  others. 

'  In  the  holy  city  of  Rome,  which  I  left  not  long  since, 
I  saw  abundant  evidences  of  the  badness  of  men  and  the 
dire  consequences  following  such  actions.  There  a  band 
of  unlawful  men,  with  a  fanatic  at  their  head,  drove  the 
holy  Father,  our  beloved  Pope,  Pius  IX,  out  of  the  Holy 
City.  But  God  interposed,  and  put  it  into  the  head  of 
the  ruler  of  the  French  people  to  restore  him.  It 
involved  much  and  lamentable  bloodshed,  and  the  poor 
mistaken  wretches  who  participated  in  the  sacrilege  were 
either  killed  or  driven  out,  as  wanderers  and  outcasts  on 
the  farce  of  the  earth. 

'  If  these  people  had  not  been  moved  by  blind  passion 
they  would  not  have  thought  of  committing  such  a  sacri 
lege  ;  but  it  only  illustrates  the  terrible  consequences  of 
injiistice,  of  transgression,  of  sin.  God  is  slow  to  punish, 
but  his  vegeance  when  it  does  come  is  swift  and  sure. 

'I  have  said  nothing  about  the  eternity  of  misery 
which  is  evidently  in  store  for  the  transgressor  who  is 
not  repentant.  God  is  merciful,  and  will  forgive  the 
worst  sinner  if  he  be  repentant.  If,  however,  he  does 
not  repent  —  if  he  does  not  walk  in  the  way  of  right 
eousness  ;  doing  all  the  good  he  can  and  living  a  virtuous 


196  IN  FETTERS: 

and  honest  life,  then  the  consequences  are  terrible.  He 
is  consigned  to  an  existence  where  misery  and  discord 
are  unending.  I  do  not  care  to  contemplate  it.  It  is 
not  a  cheerful  subject  of  thought,  but  it  is  necessary  to 
point  out  to  all  who  persistently  transgress  the  in 
evitable  consequences  of  such  transgressions. 

'Now,  a  word  about  myself.  I  have  chosen  my  path 
in  life.  It  is  one  beset  with  cares  and  responsibilities, 
but  it  is  also  one  in  which  I  hope  to  be  of  service  to  my 
fellow  men.  This  is  my  highest  ambition,  to  serve  God 
by  serving  my  fellow-creatures,  and  striving  to  lighten 
their  load  of  existence  by  kindness,  sympathy,  charity 
for  the  weak,  and  good  will  to  all.  It  matters  not  to  me 
who  it  is  that  needs  my  aid — he  is  a  fellow-creature,  the 
son  of  God  and  heir  of  eternity  —  he  shall  receive  it.' 

He  paused,  for  he  had  finished.  'There  had  been 
nothing  strained  or  dramatic  in  his  tone  or  gestures 
during  the  delivery  of  this  his  first  sermon.  The  voice 
was  natural,  though  of  course  the  inflection  was  some 
what  high.  There  was  a  flush  on  his  cheek,  and  a  glow 
in  his  eye  that  seemed  as  if  it  had  caught  the  light  of 
inspiration,  and  when  he  resumed  the  concluding  services 
the  flush  and  glow  had  not  faded,  and  his  voice  had  an 
exultant,  hopeful  tone  in  it  when  he  faced  the  congrega 
tion  and  pronounced  the  aspiration,  'Dominus  vobiscum  !' 
and  there  floated  back  from  the  choir  (he  could  hear 
only  the  voice  of  Agnes)  '  et  cum  spiritu  tuo,'  in  the 
tones  that  said:  ' God  bless  you,  my  love !  Go  on,  you 
are  in  the  right! '  and  a  flush  of  gratification,  softened  by 
an  unnameable  sadness,  swept  through  his  whole  being. 

The  congregation  was  dismissed  in  the  usual  way,  and 
in  company  with  Father  McMahon,  Cluney,  Tom,  and 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  197 

his  parents,  Richard  walked  to  the  home  of  the  latter, 
the  parish  priest  and  his  nephew  having  been  invited  to 
the  Gaston  mansion  to  dinner  on  this  particular  day. 

At  the  table,  Richard  very  properly  declined  to  say 
grace  in  deference  to  his  senior,  who  invoked  the  bless 
ing.  After  the  meal  was  over,  and  the  wine  brought  on, 
Mrs.  Gaston  retiring,  the  conversation  naturally  turned 
upon  events  of  the  day. 

'I  liked  your  sermon,'  said  Father  McMahon  to 
Richard.  '  It  was  simple,  direct,  and '  -  —  with  a  meaning 
look  at  Tom  — '  very  much  to  the  point.' 

Tom  saw  the  point  of  the  latter  remark,  and  said : 

'The  soul,  or  rather  the  body  of  the  sermon  was  good. 
It  was  pure  ethical  religion,  and  was  so  broad  and  liberal 
and  logical  that  it  was  a  surprise  to  me.  I  never  heard 
such  sentiments  -given  out  from  a  Catholic  altar  before. 
The  general  idea  of  heaven  entertained  by  all  the 
Catholics  I  have  ever  talked  with  is  that  heaven  is  a 
place  where  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  play  on  harps  and 
sing  praises.  The  idea  of  an  eternity  of  effort  is  good, 
and  that  such  effort  is  to  be  expended  in  mutual  works 
for  mutual  happiness  —  why  that  is  excellent.  Is  it 
sound  Catholic  doctrine,  Father  Tom?' 

'  It  is,'  replied  the  priest,  '  without  any  doubt.  There 
is  nothing  that  is  good  and  noble  in  the  ideas  of  right 
and  good  that  is  not  Catholic.' 

'  I  must  say,  Dick,'  pursued  Tom,  addressing  the  young 
priest,  '  that  I  like  your  idea  that  if  doing  good  to  one 
another  were  the  employment  of  people  in  the  hereafter, 
it  was  the  true  method  of  conduct  in  this  life.  This  I 
regard  to  be  the  basis  of  all  true  religion  on  earth,  even 
without  reference  to  the  hereafter.' 


198  IN  FETTERS: 

'Then,'  queried  Cluney,  'you  do  think  that  religion  is 
not  out  of  place  in  this  life  ? ' 

'  Religion,'  said  Tom,  '  is  all  right,  when  stripped  of 
the  tinsel  and  glitter  which  now  dims  its  true  lustre. 
Dick  has,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  struck  at  the 
fundamental  principle  of  all  true  religion — the  ethical 
or  moral  one  embodied  in  the  precept,  "  Do  unto  others 
as  ye  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you.'.'  This, 
alone,  is  basis  enough  to  stand  on.' 

'But  is  it  enough?'  asked  Cluney. 

'  I  do  not  see  wherein  it  is  lacking.  If  you  mean  that 
the  supernatural  is  needed,  I  see  no  objection,  if  every 
one  was  allowed  to  create  his  own  ghosts.  But  when 
the  ghostly  principle  is  put  in  as  an  article  of  faith,  to  be 
subscribed  to,  I  think  it  is  wrong,  as  well  as  superfluous.' 

'Why  don't  you  start  a  religion  of  your  own,  Tom,' 
asked  the  priest,  sarcastically. 

'I  think  I  could  improve  on  the  old  ones  in  the  way 
of  pure  ethical  practices,  though  as  regards  the  business 
part  of  it,  I  think  they  could  give  me  many  points.' 

'  Give  us  an  idea  of  what  your  church  would  be,'  said 
Cluney. 

'I  will  do  it,'  said  Tom,  'for,, to  tell  the  truth,!  have 
been  thinking  seriously  of  starting  a  new  religion.' 

When  the  good-natured  laugh,  which  this  naive 
declaration  evoked  from  all  present — the  wine  was 
beginning  to  mellow  the  souls  of  even  the  godly  —  had 
subsided,  Tom  continued: 

'  To  begin  with,  1  recognize  certain  tendencies  in  man 
which  the  laws  condemn  and  the  churches  frown  at. 
One  is  to  games  of  chance,  games  of  pastime,  and  other 
things  which  are  in  themselves  harmless  if  pursued  under 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  199 

right  conditions.  For  example,  there  is  card  playing. 
It  is  an  innocent  pastime,  and,  under  proper  regulations, 
not  bad  to  pursue.  But  if  you  drive  it  out  of  the  home, 
and  the  church  condemns  it,  then  it  goes  into  places 
where  it  is  employed  for  gambling,  to  fleece  and  cheat 
the  unwary. 

'  Again,  there  is  dancing.  Some  of  the  churches  con 
demn  it.  Properly  regulated,  it  is  exhilarating  and 
thoroughly  enjoyable.' 

'The  Catholic  church  does  not  condemn  dancing,' 
remarked  Father  Tom,  '  except  at  certain  times.' 

'  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  Catholic  or  any  other  church 
in  particular,'  said  Tom,  '  but  of  the  Christian  attitude  in 
general  towards  such  things.  I  mention  these  things 
which  are  now  frowned  upon  by  the  church,  but  which 
flourish  —  sometimes  under  bad  influences  —  against 
their  interdict.  And  why  do  they  persist?  Simply 
because  in  them  people  find  an  amusement,  a  pastime,  to 
vary  the  monotony  of  life. 

'  What  are  our  churches  ?  They  are  used  only  for  one 
purpose,  that  of  worship.  They  are,  as  it  were,  the 
portals  of  eternity,  where  fate,  with  stern  and  terrible 
aspect,  confronts  us,  and  reminds  us  that  we  are  worms, 
life  a  hollow  mockery,  and  that  the  only  true  motto  of 
our  lives  is  "  memento  mori." 

*  Now  my  idea  is  to  tear  down  the  old  church  edifices, 
and  build  habitable  places,  where  the  people  of  each 
parish  could  meet  on  common  ground  for  mutual  instruc 
tion  and  mutual  enjoyment.  I  would  have  lectures, 
discussions,  social  meetings,  places  where  card  and 
domino  playing,  billiard  playing,  dancing  assemblies, 
gymnastic  exercises,  and  all  other  kinds  of  amusements 


200  IN  FETTERS: 

that  could  be  pursued  in  doors  would  be  carried  on 
under  good  influences.' 

'What  would  you  do  with  the  priest?'  asked  Cluney. 

'I  would  make  him  the  active  leader  in  all  the  good 
work.  I  would  have  this  modern  church  open  every 
day  and  night  in  the  year,  and  would  make  it  so  attract 
ive  that  there  would  be  no  need  of  the  young  people 
going  elsewhere  for  any  legitimate  amusement  they  might 
desire.  In  this  way  the  pastimes,  which  are  now  often 
objectionable  because  of  the  conditions  under  which  they 
exist,  could  be  regulated  to  proper  moderation,  and  given 
a  tone  of  sanction  and  respectability  that  would  make 
them  legitimate  and  therefore  more  highly  enjoyable. 
This  would  be  the  kind  of  a  church  that  would  have 
some  true  merit  and  right  vitality  to  it.  It  would  knit 
us  closer  together  in  our  lives,  for,  after  all,  ties  of 
friendship  and  even  of  relationship  are  really  based  upon 
association ;  and,  therefore,  when  a  church  congregation 
can  be  made  as  one  family,  by  intimate  and  pleasant 
association,  the  ties  of  fraternity  can  be  extended  and 
made  of  vast  utility  in  the  promotion  of  general  harmony 
and  brotherly  love.' 

'Upon  my  word,  Tom,'  said  Cluney,  'there  is  much 
merit  in  what  you  say ;  very  much,  indeed.' 

'That  is  true,'  added  Father  Tom,  'and  there  is 
nothing  in  it  contrary  to  the  teachings  of  the  church.' 

'Then  why  does  not  the  church  pursue  the  work 
practically;  for,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  it  rarely  if  ever 
gets  farther  than  the  theory?  Tolerating  pastimes  is  not 
promoting  them.' 

'The  work  of  reconstruction  must  be  a  slow  one,' 
observed  Cluney.  '  You  understand  that  the  church  has 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PKIEST?  201 

all  along  had  to  contend  with  social  and  inherited  condi 
tions  which  are  not  readily  amenable  to  modification.' 

'I  do  not  understand  it,'  said  Tom.  'I  rather  regard 
the  church  as  the  active  agent  into  producing  most  of 
the  conditions  you  speak  of.  But  perhaps  it  is  well  not 
to  pursue  this  line  farther.  One  thing  I  will  say,  and 
that  is,  that  I  am  glad  to  find  that  Richard's  sermon  was 
so  little  doctrinal,  and  was  so  purely  ethical,  except  in 
one  respect,  when  he  condemned  the  action  of  the  Italian 
patriots.' 

'  You  saw  some  of  the  desolation  wrought  by  them  in 
Rome,'  said  Richard.  'How  do  you  justify  such  acts, 
especially  as  they  were  directed  against  the  benign  rule 
of  so  good  a  prelate  as  the  Holy  Father?' 

'  War,'  said  Tom,  '  is  revolting,  terrible,  but  bad  as  it  is, 
it  is  often  justifiable.  While  it  lasts,  which  is  usually  but 
a  short  time,  it  entails  more  or  less  destruction  of  life  and 
property.  But  what  are  such  sacrifices  compared  with 
the  prolonged  agony  which  despotism  imposes  upon  its 
victims.  Personally  the  Pope  may  be  a  good  and 
charitable  man,  but  we  have  abundant  evidence  that  his 
government  was  at  best  but  a  mild  despotism. 

'Look  at  the  condition  of  the  people  of  Italy,  descend 
ants  of  that  noble  race,  who  were  once  masters  of  the 
world.  A  foreign  king  rules,  with  despotic  sway,  in 
Naples.  The  Italian  peninsula,  where  the  ancient  glory 
of  the  republic  and  the  empire  was  centered,  is  in  the 
control  of  the  church,  supported  by  bayonets.  A  portion 
of  the  northwestern  kingdom  has  become  a  province  of 
the  Austrian  empire,  and  only  one  small  section  of  the 
kingdom  —  Sardinia  —  is  in  the  hands  of  a  native  Italian 
prince. 


202  IN  FETTERS: 

*  Let  us  put  ourselves  in  the  place  of  the  people  whom 
Garibaldi  and  Mazzini  represent  in  Italy.  Every  act  of 
the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor  is  in  the  nature  of 
an  expression  of  despair,  wrung  from  them  by  centuries 
of  wrong  and  of  denial  of  manhood.  Look  at  Ireland, 
which  has  been  for  ages  under  the  heel  of  the  stronger 
element  in  Great  Britian  —  do  you  condemn  its  patriotic 
sons  for  regarding  every  opportunity  to  break  their 
fetters  as  one  that  should  be  gladly  availed  of?  Are  the 
patriots  of  Ireland  right  in  rebelling  against  the  domina 
tion  of  a  foreign  power,  and  Italian  patriots  wrong  in 
doing  the  same  thing?' 

'The  two  cases  are  not  analogous,'  interrupted 
Cluney. 

'If  there  is  any  lack  in  the  analogy,'  returned  Tom,  'it 
is  in  favor  of  the  Italians.  While  the  Irish  had  been 
more  or  less  oppressed,  they  have  had  at  least  a  show  of 
representation  in  the  law-making  of  the  kingdom.  It  is 
true  that  a  class  of  the  people  more  than  the  people  of 
Ireland  is  represented  in  the  British  parliament.  But,  in 
Italy,  the  country  has  been  cut  up  into  small  despotisms, 
and  the  people  have  been  practically  without  representa 
tion.  Their  condition  as  a  people  is  little  better  than 
that  of  serfdom.  The  Irish,  bad  as  their  condition  may 
be,  are  free  men  compared  with  the  Italians  of  the  Papal 
States,  the  Neapolitan  kingdom  —  in  fact,  of  all  the 
sections  outside  of  the  little  Sardinian  kingdom.  If  I 
were  an  Italian,  I  would  be  not  only  an  active  conspirator, 
but  would  devote  my  whole  life,  as  Mazzini  and  Garibaldi 
have  done,  to  the  promotion  and  success  of  insurrection 
ary  enterprises,  until  the  entire  people  would  rise  in 
revolution  and  possess  themselves  of  the  birthright  which 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PEIEST?  203 

had  been  stolen  from  their  fathers.  There  is  a  spirit 
abroad  in  Italy,  I  feel  confident,  which  will  never 
slumber,  until  freedom  and  unity  are  secured  for  that 
historic  land.  And  I  glory  in  the  fact  that  in  Italy  today 
'"Thoughts  have  gone  forth, 

Whose  powers  can  sleep  no" more."  ' 

'Would  you  depose  the  Holy  Father  ?'  asked  Father 
Tom. 

'  Most  assuredly.  Let  him  attend  to  the  affairs  of  his 
spiritual  kingdom,  and  allow  secularists  to  attend  to 
secular  affairs.  Why  should  you,  because  you  are  a 
priest,  have  a  right  to  govern  this  town  or  this  province  ? 
The  Pope  could  still  have  his  headquarters  at  Rome, 
and  carry  on  his  church  government  there  as  well  as 
now.' 

'Well,  well,'  said  Cluney,  'let  us  change  the  subject. 
You  are  at  least  consistent  and  honest  about  your  ideas, 
Tom;  and  we  cannot  evidently  agree  with  you  in  every 
thing.  When  do  you  propose  to  return  to  Boston  ? ' 

'In  about  a  week.  I  deferred  beginning  a  general 
practice  until  I  could  remain  there  permanently ;  for  I 
feel  somewhat  in  my  profession  as  Dick  does  in  his.  I 
want  to  do  all  the  good,  in  my  way,  to  poor,  suffering 
humanity  that  I  can.' 

'That  reminds  me,  Tom.  Our  friend,  James  Warden, 
has  been  failing  in  health  greatly  in  the  past  six  months,' 
said  the  elder  Gaston,  who  had  heretofore  taken  no  part 
in  the  conversation.  '  Do  you  think  you  could  help  him 
in  any  way  ? ' 

'I  doubt  it,  father.  His  case  is  a  peculiar  one,  I 
should  say  —  what  is  commonly  known  as  a  breakdown. 
It  is  mainly  psychological  —  that  is,  the  spirit  of  the  man 


204  IN  FETTERS: 

seems  to  be  broken,  and,  though  he  appears  to  be  an 
ordinarily  sound  and  healthy  man,  he  has  evidently 
surrendered  his  hopefulness;  and,  what  with  the  worry 
and  loss  of  sleep  incident  to  such  a  condition  of  mind, 
together  with  his  peculiar  physiological  constitution, 
there  need  be  no  surprise  if  he  should  at  any  time  be 
visited  with  apoplexy,  paralysis,  and  —  well,  there  is  no 
telling  what  might  occur  to  him  at  any  time.' 

'  That  is  not  a  favorable  diagnosis,  Tom,'  said  Mr. 
Gaston,  '  but  I  fear  you  are  right.  His  condition,  also, 
cannot  be  greatly  improved  by  the  bad  state  of  his  affairs. 
I  fear  he  is  not  over  and  above  solvent,  and  his  business 
seems  to  be  growing  worse  every  day.  What  do  you 
say  to  calling  on  him  tomorrow,  Tom,  and  asking  him 
some  questions  about  his  health?' 

'  That  is  needless,  father,  for  the  reason  that  I  have 
already  seen  and  talked  with  him,  and  Agnes  has  told 
me  much  that  I  know  about  him.' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE     STRANGE     DISCOVERY SICKNESS    AND    ABERRATION 

—  MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE    OF    RICHARD. 

Since  his  return  home,  Richard  Gaston  had  not  felt  as 
he  anticipated  that  he  would.  He  had  pictured  Agnes 
as  being  distant,  and  perhaps  not  friendly  in  her  bearing 
towards  him.  On  the  contrary,  however,  he  found  her 
not  only  friendly,  but  cordial.  He  saw  in  her  eyes  the 
fire  of  the  old  love,  and  thought  what  a  fool  he  had  been 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PKIEST?  205 

to  be  so  precipitate  in  the  matter  of  becoming  a  priest. 
Still  he  had  no  idea  of  the  true  state  of  affairs. 

On  the  evening  of  the  Sunday  on  which  he  preached 
the  sermon  which  was  given  in  the  last  chapter,  Agnes 
came  over  to  his  father's  house,  and  contribvited  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  evening.  She  was  bright,  cheerful  and 
witty  —  more  so  than  he  had  ever  known  her  to  be 
before. 

That  night,  on  retiring,  he  said  to  himself,  and  kept 
repeating  it  —  'What  a  fool!  What  a  fool! ' 

On  Monday  evening,  after  supper,  when  Tom  and  his 
father  were  engrossed  in  the  discussion  of  matters  and 
things  in  Europe,  as  seen  by  the  former  on  his  visit, 
Richard  left  the  house  and  wandered  down  to  the  seaside, 
the  old  trysting-place  seeming  to  have  a  fascination  for 
him.  He  went  a  little  way  LeyQnd  it,  and  sat  down  to 
watch  the  rising  moon. 

'Dear  old  moon,'  he  said,  'I  have  seen  you  elsewhere, 
in  many  climes,  but  nowhere  just  as  T  see  you  here ;  for 
here  you  are  so  familiar  and  homelike  that  I  feel  most 
intimate  with  you,  and  could  even  shout  and  laugh  at 
you,  as  I  did  when  a  little  fellow,  who  knew  nothing 
about  you  or  the  troubles  of  the  world.' 

The  moon  kept  on  its  upward  path,  apparently,  and 
Richard's  reveries  continued;  but  were  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  voices  near  at  hand.  lie  listened. 

'  This,'  said  the  voice  of  a  young  man  —  'is  the  place 
they  met  and  talked  of  love.  Why  can't  we?' 

'I  would  rather  not,'  said  a  female  voice.  'It  is,  I 
fear,  an  unlucky  place.  They  did  not  marry,  and  he 
became  a  priest.' 

'  Yes,'  was  the  reply,  '  but  it  was  his  own  fault.     He 


206  IN  FETTEES: 

would  not  wait.  Old  Warden  afterwards  relented,  and 
told  Mr.  Gaston  that  his  son  could  have  Agnes.  But 
Dick  had  gone  to  Rome,  and  when  his  brother  followed 
him  and  tried  to  prevent  his  becoming  a  priest,  he  found 
he  had  already  been  ordained.  So  you  see  it  was  his 
own  fault.' 

'  I  hear  Agnes  took  it  very  much  to  heart,'  said  the 
female  voice,  'but  she  does  not  show  it.  She  is  too 
proud  to,  I  suppose.  But,  come  away!  There  is  some 
thing  uncanny  to  me  in  this  place.' 

Richard  heard  this  conversation,  like  one  in  a  dream. 
Was  it  possible  that  what  he  heard  was  true?  He  was 
dazed  at  the  revelation.  It  explained  everything  to  him, 
and  when  he  fully  realized  it,  his  head  was  in  a  whirl. 
He  hastened  home  and  sought  his  mother. 

'Mother,'  he  asked,  'is  it  true?'  And  then  he  told 
her  what  he  had  heard. 

'Oh,  Richard!     Where  did  you  hear  that?' 

He  told  her,  and  asked  almost  Avildly:  '  Is  it  true, 
mother ;  -is  it  true  ? ' 

'God  help  me,'  said  the  mother,  '  and  God  help  you  to 
bear  it,  my  son  ! ' 

'Then  it  is  true?' 

'It  is.     But'  — 

She  could  say  no  more;  for  he  had  risen,  thrown  up 
his  arms  wildly,  like  a  man  who  had  been  shot,  and  then 
fell  down  on  the  floor  —  limp,  and  apparently  lifeless. 

'  It  is  lucky  that  I  am  at  home,'  said  Tom  Gaston, 
after  reaching  his  brother's  side,  whither  the  shrieks  of 
his  mother  had  summoned  him. 

' Let  me  see.  Yes  —  why  what  has  happened?  The 
boy  has  all  the  symptoms  of  brain  fever.  Do  you  think 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PEIEST  ?  207 

the  excitement  of  yesterday  had  an  unfavorable  influence 
on  his  mind  ?' 

Then  his  mother  explained  what  had  occurred. 

'  Confound  the  tattlers,'  he  said.  '  How  did  it  leak 
out?  But  we  must  attend  to  him  at  once;  for,  in  his 
present  mental  condition,  this  shock  may  unbalance 
him.' 

Tom  then  proceeded  to  do  all  that  his  art  could 
suggest  for  the  sufferer,  and  even  called  in  one  of  the 
most  reputable  of  the  town  doctors  to  aid  him  in  the 
treatment. 

The  young  man  was  delirious  for  many  days,  and  his 
ravings  were  all  about  Agnes — Agnes,  his  love! — Agnes, 
his  life !  Tom  suggested  that  the  young  woman  be 
brought  to  his  bedside,  as  her  presence  might  have  a 
tendency  to  quiet  him.  This  the  doctor  agreed  to,  and 
Agnes  was  sent  for,  and  came.  When  she  realized  what 
had  occurred,  she  felt  as  if  she,  too,  would  be  a  victim 
of  brain  excitement;  but  a  strong  will  restrained  her 
from  giving  way ;  and,  perhaps,  also,  a  sense  of  duty,  for 
she  realized  that  in  her  presence  and  ministration  might 
be  involved  the  safety  of  the  young  man.  So  with  her 
the  crisis  was  brief>  and  she  came  off  triumphant. 

Agnes  helped  to  nurse  the  young  priest  —  alternating 
with  the  mother  —  for  several  weeks,  during  his  slow 
recovery. 

At  length  one  day  —  it  was  in  the  afternoon  —  Richard 
awoke  to  a  consciousness  of  his  surroundings.  He  had 
recovered  his  reason.  . 

He  found  himself  in  bed,  with  Agnes  seated  by  its  side, 
and  his  hand  in  hers.  He  tried  to  rise,  but,  much  to  his 
surprise,  fell  back  exhausted  from  the  attempt.  Agnes, 


208  rtf  FETTERS: 

perceiving  that  his  reason  had  returned,  quickly  relin 
quished  his  hand,  and  blushed  scarlet. 

'What  is  it,  Agnes?'  asked  Richard.  'Have  I  been 
sick?  Was  it  all  a  dream  or  a  nightmare?  We've  had  no 
trouble,  have  we,  dear?  I  did  not  go  to  be  a  priest,  and 
was  not  ordained,  then?  I  see  how  it  is  —  some  sickness 
I  have  had.  And,  yet,  all  was  so  natural  that — Say  it 
wasn't  true,  Agnes,  —  that  it  was  only  a  dream  —  and  I 
will  bless  you ! ' 

Agnes  was  weeping.  What  could  she  say,  except 
what  she  did  say  : 

'  Richard,  you  are  too  weak  to  talk,  and  the  doctor 
has  ordered  me  not  to  say  anything  to  you.' 

'  I  care  not  what  the  doctor  says,  Agnes !  Have  I  not 
been  sick?' 

'Yes,  very  sick,  of  brain  fever.' 

l¥or  how  long?' 

'  About  two  or  three  weeks.  Now,  that  will  do. 
Take  this  draught,  and  compose  yourself.' 

He  did  as  directed,  and  soon  fell  into  a  quiet  slumber. 

Agnes  looked  at  the  young  man,  who  should  have 
been  her  partner  for  life,  snatched  from  her  by  a  cruel 
fate,  and  held  in  fetters  by  the  church  —  fetters  that 
could  never  be  broken !  It  was  terrible  ! 

She  knew  that,  though  the  church  held  him,  he  still 
loved  her.  The  whole  burden  of  his  ravings  during  his 
sickness  was  of  her  and  of  his  love  for  her.  Tn  his 
delirium  he  imagined  that  he  had  married  her,  built  a 
house  for  her  reception,  and,  began  a  life  of  domesticity 
with  her. 

Then  a  cloud  would  come  up — a  remembrance  that 
there  was  a  claim  on  him — the  claim  of  the  church. 


THE  MAN  OR  THE  PRIEST?  209 

But  lie  would  deny  the  claim  and  defy  the  church.  Then 
he  would  imagine  he  was  being  taken  to  a  dungeon,  to 
be  chained — chained  by  the  heart  to  a  living  death!  It 
was  pitiable  to  behold  him  in  these  paroxysms  of  fever; 
but  Agnes  bore  it,  like  one  apparently  fascinated  by  the 
terrible  fate  of  which  she  and  the  sufferer  were  the 
victims. 

When  Richard  slept,  Agnes  quietly  left  the  room  to 
carry  the  glad  tidings  of  his  restoration  to  reason.  His 
brother  Tom  had  just  returned  from  a  walk,  and  when 
told  of  the  fact,  advised  that  his  mother  now  watch  him 
and  be  present  when  he  awakened,  and  that  it  would 
hardly  be  advisable  for  Agnes  to  go  in  again  unless  he 
called  for  her. 

'Now,  Agnes,'  he  said,  'you  will  have  an  opportunity 
of  getting  some  rest,  and  take  it,  for  you  need  it  badly.' 

Agnes  followed  his  directions,  for  she  sadly  needed 
sleep  having  had  but  little  in  the  past  three  weeks,  and 
Mrs.  Gaston  took  her  place  at  the  bedside. 

Richard's  recovery  was  rapid.  In  two  weeks  from  the 
time  he  became  conscious  he  was  able  to  go  abroad. 
His  brother  had  returned  to  Boston  a  week  before,  and 
matters  in  the  Gaston  household  began  to  settle  down  to 
a  normal  condition  of  monotony. 

With  Richard  there  was  not  a  revival  of  cheerfulness 
with  the  return  to  health.  Without  being  notably 
morose,  he  was  yet  peculiarly  silent,  and  seemed  thought 
ful  and  brooding.  He  took  long  walks  alone,  and  was 
often  absent  a  whole  day.  He  appeared  to  take  little 
interest  in  anything. 

His  mother,  more  than  once,  detected  him  at  the  side 
board,  helping  himself  to  the  strong  French  brandy, 


210  IN  FETTERS: 

which  was  kept  there  more  for  certain  visitors  than  for 
home  use.  At  first  she  thought  nothing  of  this  —  and 
indeed  was  rather  glad  of  it,  for  she  believed  it  might 
stimulate  him  to  cheerfulness  and  robust  health.  But 
when  the  habit  was  persisted  in,  and  the  potations 
became  more  frequent,  she  grew  alarmed.  Mr.  Gaston 
one  day  commented  on  the  rapid  way  in  which  the 
French  brandy  was  disappearing,  and  questioned  his 
wife  about  the  matter.  She  told  him  of  Richard's  grow 
ing  taste  for  it,  and  how  uneasy  it  made  her;  but  she 
refrained  from  saying  anything,  in  the  hope  that  when 
the  young  man  had  fully  regained  his  strength,  and 
began  to  occupy  his  mind,  he  would  abandon  it. 

'Dear  me,'  said  Mr.  Gaston.  'How  stupid  of  me  not 
to  think  of  it  before,  and  tell  you.  Before  leaving, 
among  other  things,  Tom  said  to  me  that  he  hoped 
Richard  would  not  become  melancholy  and  take  to 
drinking.  However,'  he  said,  cheerfully,  'it  is  not  too 
late  yet.  I  will  talk  with  him  this  very  evening  —  and 
you  might  make  an  excuse  to  leave  the  room  to  allow 
me  the  opportunity.' 

What  of  Agnes?  it  may  be  queried.  She  was  not 
often  seen  now  at  the  Gaston  mansion,  and  indeed  she 
had  all  she  could  attend  to  at  home.  Her  father  was 
not  in  good  health,  and  there  was  much  about  his 
business  that  required  looking  after,  which  absorbed 
most  of  her  time.  She  had  seen  but  little  of  Richard 
since  his  convalescence.  Indeed  there  was  a  kind  of 
mutual  shyness  between  the  young  people,  which  neither 
seemed  to  care  to  analyze.  When  Agnes  did  see 
Richard,  it  was  in  the  presence  of  one  or  both  of  his 
parents.  She  studiously  avoided  meeting  him  alone, 


THE    MAK    OK    THE    PRIEST?  211 

and  she  now  rarely  went  out  for  a  solitary  walk,  her 
mother  or  a  servant  being  generally  with  her.  On  such 
occasions,  if  Richard  was  encountered — which  was 
sometimes  the  case  —  he  usually  passed  by  with  a  bow, 
though  once  or  twice  he  paused  to  greet  her  civilly,  and 
ask  after  her  father's  health. 

One  evening  Richard  was  late  to  supper,  and  when  he 
did  appear  his  face  was  flushed.  He  had  little  to  say, 
and  no  excuse  to  offer  for  his  prolonged  absence.  When 
he  came  into  the  sitting  room,  Mr.  Gaston  gave  his  wife 
a  signal,  and  she  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the  room. 

'How  are  you  feeling  in  health,  Richard?'  asked  the 
father. 

'  I  am  well  and  hearty,  sir.' 

'What  do  you  propose  doing?'  asked  Mr.  Gaston.  'I 
suppose  you  have  your  plans  for  the  future?' 

'I  have  nothing  definite  in  view.  I  did  think  of 
writing  to  the  bishop,  and  asking  for  the  vacancy  in  the 
Vignish  parish,  which  Father  McPhee  has  lately  left,  on 
account  of  ill  health.  But  it  is  a  wild  region,  and  the 
people  are  not  half  civilized.  Do  you  know,  father,  that 
I  have  half  a  notion  to  go  to  the  States,  on  a  short  tour  ? 
I  think  it  would  do  me  good.  Then  I  will  come  back, 
and  face  my  duty  like  a  man.' 

'I  will  not  seek  to  combat  that  resolution,  Richard ; 
but,  really,  I  think  you  would  do  much  better  to  settle 
down  at  once  to  the  business  of  the  life  you  have 
chosen.' 

Then,  in  a  delicate  way,  he  introduced  the  subject  of 
the  growing  habit  of  drinking  ardent  spirits,  which  the 
young  man  appeared  to  be  developing. 

'Liquor,'  he  said,  'is  a  good  thing  in  its  place  —  as  a 


212  IN  FETTERS: 

medicine,  perhaps.  But  when  taken  regularly  it  loses 
that  virtue,  and  when  the  habit  of  drinking  is  once 
established,  it  is  sure  to  lead  to  excess.' 

Richard  replied  that  he  was  aware  of  the  truth  of 
what  his  father  said,  and  would  forthwith  abandon  the 
use  of  it ;  but  he  still  showed  a  disposition  to  go  abroad 
for  a  short  time,  and  asked  his  father  for  a  loan  of  fifty 
pounds,  to  enable  him  to  make  the  journey.  This  Mr. 
Gaston  declined  to  promise  at  that  time,  though  he  said 
he  would  think  the  matter  over,  and  give  him  an  answer 
later. 

For  about  a  week  after  this  interview,  the  parents  of 
the  young  man  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  he  had 
discontinued  his  visits  to  the  sideboard,  and  was 
beginning  to  be  more  cheerful  and  talkative.  When 
Mrs.  Gaston  heard  of  her  son's  desire  to  go  to  the  States 
she  was  opposed  to  it,  but  he  pleaded  with  her  so 
strongly  that  she  at  length  consented  to  aid  him  in  the 
project,  if  his  father  was  willing.  She  had  some  money 
in  her  own  right,  and  could  easily  give  him  all  he  would 
need  for  a  journey  of  a  few  weeks. 

Matters  were  in  this  condition  of  uncertainty  for  two 
weeks  longer,  when  Richard  announced  that  he  had 
abandoned  his  contemplated  trip  to  the  States,  and 
would  apply  to  the  bishop  for  the  vacant  parish  of 
Vignish. 

He  went  to  see  his  friends,  Father  Tom  and  Cluney, 
about  the  matter,  and  the  former  at  once  gave  him  a 
letter  to  the  bishop,  to  accompany  Richard's  application. 
This  was  duly  forwarded  by  Richard,  who,  however,  did 
not  send  with  it  his  own  application,  as  afterward 
appeared. 


THE    MAN   OR   THE    PRIEST?  213 

On  the  way  homeward,  that  day,  the  young  priest 
encountered  Agnes,  alone,  on  the  street,  and  stopped  to 
talk  with  her  pleasantly.  He  seemed  to  be  in  good 
humor,  and  excellent  spirits,  and  told  her  he  was  about 
to  make  application  for  the  Vignish  parish.  In  parting, 
he  took  her  hand,  an  unusual  thing  for  him  to  do,  and 
held  it  in  his  for  nearly  a  minute.  Then  he  bade  her 
good-bye  ''till  we  meet  again.' 

She  thought  his  action  a  little  strange  at  the  time,  but 
did  not  attach  any  special  significance  to  it,  as  he  was 
smiling  pleasantly,  and  seemed  to  act  half  playfully  — 
just  as  he  was  wont  to  do  at  times  when  they  were 
lovers. 

He  returned  to  his  home  early  that  evening,  and 
retired  to  his  room,  where  he  was  engaged  in  writing 
until  quite  late. 

On  the  morning  following,  Richard  not  appearing  at 
the  breakfast  table,  a  servant  was  sent  to  his  room  to 
call  him.  She  returned  and  reported  that  no  response 
to  her  calls  and  rapping  on  the  door  had  been  made. 

Mr.  Gaston  went  up  to  investigate,  and  found  the  room 
empty.  He  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the  time,  and 
returned  to  the  breakfast  room,  saying  that  no  doubt 
Richard  had  gone  out  for  a  walk  before  breakfast,  and 
would  soon  return. 

Just  as  they  finished  breakfast,  however,  the  servant 
who  had  been  sent  up  to  call  Richard  came  in,  and  said 
she  had  just  come  from  his  room,  and  that  the  bed  had 
not  been  slept  in  ! 

'  It  is  curious,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  'that  I  did  not  notice 
that,'  and  he  and  his  wife  went  up  at  once  to  the  bed 
room. 


214  IN  FETTERS: 

Sure  enough,  the  bed  had  not  been  slept  in,  and,  look 
ing  on  the  table,  a  note  was  found,  in  pencil.  It  said: 

'  DE AR  FATHER  AXD  MOTHER  :  I  shall  be  absent  for  a 
time  —  I  can't  say  how  long.  Don't  be  uneasy  about 
me.  RICHARD.' 

In  the  fireplace  was  noted  the  burnt  remains  of  paper, 
as  if  letters  and  other  writings  had  been  destroyed.  A 
large  valise,  some  clothing,  shirts  and  underwear  were 
missing  from  the  room,  and  indicated  that  the  young 
man  had  really  started  on  a  journey  of  some  kind.  But 
where  could  he  have  gone? 

Mr.  Gaston  lost  no  time  in  instituting  a  quick  search 
and  inquiry  in  every  direction,  but  without  obtaining  any 
tidings  of  the  fugitive,  who  seemed  to  have  disappeared 
as  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  him  up. 

Only  one  clue  to  a  possible  mode  of  departure  was 
obtained,  and  that  was  the  sailing  of  the  brig  Enterprise, 
bound  for  Philadelphia,  and  a  market,  on  the  morning  of 
Richard's  disappearance. 

The  captain  of  this  brig  was  known,  and  was  written 
to,  and  the  letter  would  probably  be  in  Philadelphia 
awaiting  his  arrival.  Tom  was  also  notified  qf  his 
brother's  disappearance,  told  of  the  sailing  of  the 
Enterprise,  and  asked  if  he  could  not  see  the  captain, 
and  find  out  if  Richard  had  taken  passage  in  her.  The 
letter  arrived  in  Boston  during  a  short  absence;  but  when 
Thomas  Gaston  returned  and  found  it,  he  set  out  for 
Philadelphia,  where  he  arrived  too  late  to  intercept  the 
brig,  which  had  been  ordered  to  the  West  Indies.  lie 
thought  he  would  go  to  the  post  office  and  inquire  for  a 
letter  for  Capt.  Macdonald,  and  found  one  there  awaiting 
that  person,  on  which  he  recognized  the  handwriting  of 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  215 

his  father.  With  a  sad  heart,  he  wrote  to  his  father  the 
result  of  his  mission  to  and  investigation  at  Philadelphia, 
and  then  returned  to  his  office  in  Boston. 

The  weeks  lengthened  into  months,  and  winter  came 
and  passed  away  —  the  long  and  dreary  winter  of  the 
eastern  British  provinces  —  and  not  a  word  or  trace  of 
the  missing  young  priest  was  realized  by  his  stricken 
parents.  The  father  bore  up  under  the  strain,  finding,  no 
doubt,  in  his  business  affairs  enough  of  occupation  to 
divert  him  from  brooding  over  his  family  troubles.  His 
wife,  however,  took  the  matter  very  much  to  heart,  and 
her  only  consolation  was  the  frequent  visits  of  Agnes 
Warden,  who  was  equally  heart-stricken  at  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  young  priest.  But  it  was  a  kind  of 
consolation  to  both  to  meet  and  talk  about  the  absent 
one.  And  this  talk  was  always  more  or  less  hopeful, 
for  both  agreed  in  the  firm  belief  that  he  was  alive  and 
would  yet  return. 

In  the  first  week  in  June,  1853,  the  brig  Enterprise, 
Capt.  Roderick  Macdonald,  cast  anchor  in  Chebucto 
harbor.  When  he  ascertained  the  identity  of  the  new 
comer,  Mr.  Gaston  hastened  down  to  the  wharf,  opposite 
which  the  brig  had  anchored,  and  as  he  reached  the 
landing  slip,  the  stalwart  form  of  the  brig's  captain  was 
seen  mounting  the  wharf,  and  the  merchant's  hand  was 
the  first  he  clasped  when  he  got  onto  the  wharf. 

Of  course  the  first  question  asked  him  by  Mr.  Gaston 
was  about  Richard,  and  the  captain  said  that  on  the 
morning  of  his  departure  from  Chebucto — -it  was  an 
early  start,  for  he  had  to  take  advantage  of  the  tide  — 
the  young  man  had  come  aboard  from  the  wharf,  and 
asked  to  be  taken  to  Philadelphia.  The  captain  said  he 


216  IN   FETTERS: 

thought  it  a  rather  singular  step  for  the  young  man  to 
take,  for  he  knew  he  ought  to  afford  to  go  by  steamer, 
but  as  Richard  said  it  was  for  his  health,  he  thought 
perhaps  it  might  be  all  right,  and  made  the  young  man 
welcome. 

On  arrival  in  Philadelphia,  however,  Richard  revealed 
to  him  the  fact  that  he  had  left  home  without  any  money, 
but  said  he  wanted  to  visit  some  places  in  the  States,  and 
would  then  make  his  way  home.  He  asked  the  captain 
for  a  loan,  which  the  latter  said  he  readily  gave  him, 
though  it  left  him  rather  short  for  funds.  But  he  did 
not  want  the  young  man  cast  loose  in  a  strange  place 
without  money,  and  advanced  him  what  he  needed,  for 
which  Richard  gave  him  an  order  on  his  father  for  the 
amount  loaned,  and  price  of  his  passage  to  Philadelphia. 
The  order  ran  as  follows : 

'  PHILADELPHIA,  October  10,  1852. 
*  MR.  RICHARD  GASTON,  Chebucto : 

'Dear  Father — Please  pay  to  Capt.  Macdonald, 
for  loan  of  money  and  passage  to  this  place,  three 
hundred  dollars,  or  its  equivalent  in  your  currency,  and 
oblige  your  son,  *  RICHARD  GASTON.' 

'P.  S.  —  Capt.  Macdonald  has  been  most  kind  and 
generous  to  me.  I  am  in  good  health,  and  may  not 
return  home  for  two  or  three  years.  Do  not  be  anxious 
about  me.  Love  to  dear  mother  and  all  friends. 

'  RICHARD.' 

Mr.  Gaston  thanked  Capt.  Macdonald  for  his  kindness 
to  Richard,  and  invited  him  to  call  at  his  counting  room 
on  the  day  following,  when  he  would  pay  the  loan,  and 
wished  to  have  a  talk  with  him.  The  merchant  then 
went  home  to  his  wife,  and  acquainted  her  with  the  facts 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  217 

of  the  departure  of  Richard.  The  mother  was  greatly 
cheered  by  the  news. 

'  Thank  God ! '  she  fervently  ejaculated.  '  He  will 
yet  come  back,  and  all  will  be  well.  I  shall  go  at  once 
and  tell  Agnes  of  it.' 

On  the  following  day  Capt.  Macdonald  waited  on 
merchant  Gaston,  who  received  him  cordially,  and  after 
paying  him  the  money  due  by  Richard,  with  interest,  he 
drew  the  captain  to  the  window,  and  calling  his  attention 
to  a  new  ship,  nearly  completed  and  ready  to  launch, 
said  to  him : 

'  That  is  a  fine  ship,  captain.  I  will  launch  her  at  the 
next  high  tides.  She  is  the  largest  and  best  ship  I  have 
ever  built,  and  I  am  going  to  own  her  and  keep  her  in 
trade.  I  shall  call  her  the  'Agnes  Warden,'  after  my  old 
friend's  daughter,  but  I  have  told  no  one  but  you  of  her 
name  as  yet.  In  two  months  she  will  be  ready  for  sea. 
I  have  been  looking  about  for  a  capable  man  to  command 
her,  and  have  decided  on  one,  and  therefore  ask  your 
advice  in  regard  to  the  matter.  What  would  you  say  to 
Capt.  Roderick  Macdonald  as  a  commander  of  such  a 
ship?' 

The  young  seaman  —  he  was  about  thirty-one  years  of 
age  —  was  so  taken  by  surprise  at  this  question  that  for 
a  moment  he  could  not  answer.  Then  he  faltered  out: 

'Do  you  mean  this,  Mr.  Gaston?' 

'To  be  sure  I  do,  and  I  have  not  decided  without 
thought.  I  have  watched  your  career  as  a  ship-master, 
and  know  that  you  are  smart,  capable,  and  faithful. 
Now,  I  want  just  such  a  man  to  command  that  ship. 
Besides,  your  friendly  act  towards  my  poor  boy  has  laid 
me  under  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  you;  and  you  shall  have 


218  IN    FETTERS: 

the  command  of  the  'Agnes  Warden.'  I  shall  double 
your  present  salary,  and,  as  soon  as  you  can  leave  your 
present  employ,  your  pay  as  captain  of  the  ship  will 
commence.  I  shall  give  you  work  until  the  ship  is 
ready  for  sea  in  superintending  the  rigging  and  other 
details  of  her  equipment.' 

Captain  Macdonald  thanked  Mr.  Gaston  heartily  for 
the  position  offered  him,  which  he  gladly  accepted. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CALIFORNIA  MINING  CAMP GAMBLER'S  VICTIM A  LUCKY 

FIND,   AND    SUCCESS RETURN    HOME. 

It  was  in  December,  1852,  at  a  mining  camp  in  Placer 
county,  California,  on  the  American  river,  that  a  stranger 
arrived  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  name  of  the  camp, 
which  was  a  small  one,  located  not  far  from  Michigan 
Bluff,  we  may  say  was  'Rough  and  Ready.'  The 
stranger  went  at  once  to  a  bar-room,  where  he  proceeded 
to  regale  himself  with  a  drink  of  brandy,  which  he  took 
with  evident  relish.  He  was  young  —  not  over  twenty- 
five —  and  good  looking,  but  did  not  appear  like  a  man 
who  had  ever  roughed  it.  But  this  was  nothing  new  in 
the  diggings,  as  great  numbers  of  such  men  flocked  there 
all  the  time,  so  that  his  advent  and  appearance  excited 
little  or  no  comment  from  the  few  loungers  in  the  bar 
room.  While  the  young  man  is  regaling  himself  with  a 
second  glass  of  liquor,  let  us  briefly  outline  the  mining 
situation  in  California  at  that  time. 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  219 

Gold  had  been  discovered  four  years  before  this  time, 
and  the  rush  of  people  from  all  parts  to  the  placers  on 
the  western  slope  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  range  of 
mountains  was  simply  immense.  For  the  first  three 
or  four  years,  the  mining  was  done  mainly  by  the  pan 
and  rocker.  The  pan  used  by  the  placer  miners  was 
commonly  made  of  ordinary  sheet  iron,  with  a  flat  bottom 
about  twelve  inches  in  diameter,  and  sides  six  inches 
high,  inclining  outwards  at  an  angle  of  about  fifty 
degrees. 

The  gold  was  usually  found  in  a  tough  clay  mixed 
with  sand  and  gravel.  The  miner  filled  his  pan  with 
this  clay,  went  to  the  bank  of  the  stream  or  river,  filled 
the  pan  and  shook  it,  using  a  stone  to  break  up  the 
lumpy  clay,  until  it  was  dissolved.  Then  he  kept 
repeating  the  washing  until  the  clay  was  dissolved  and 
run  off  into  the  river  as  he  tilted  the  pan,  the  gold 
settling  at  the  bottom  in  the  operation.  The  coarse 
particles  of  sand  and  pebbles  that  would  not  go  off  with 
the  water  were  removed  by  hand.  These  manipulations 
were  repeated  until  the  gold  was  practically  freed  from 
all  other  material,  when  it  was  recovered.  When  pan 
ning  was  in  vogue,  the  outfit  of  a  miner,  besides  his 
'grub'  or  food,  consisted  of  only  a  pick,  shovel,  pan,  and 
a  blanket. 

After  a  time,  when  the  returns  from  this  process 
ceased  to  yield  gold  according  to  expectation,  the  rocker 
took  its  place.  The  rocker  was  made  somewhat  like  an 
old-fashioned  child's  cradle,  but  open  at  one  end,  that  is, 
without  a  foot-board.  The  upper  end,  however,  was 
considerably  higher  than  the  lower,  and  contained  a  large 
colander-like  riddle  of  sheet  iron,  with  holes  punched  in 


220  IN  FETTERS: 

the  bottom.  The  floor  of  the  rocker  was  set  with  cleats 
or  riffles,  extending  nearly  across,  to  catch  the  gold. 
The  miner  filled  the  riddle  with  pay-dirt,  and  rocked  the 
rocker  with  one  hand,  while  he  poured  water  on  the  dirt 
in  the  riddle  with  the  other.  The  water  and  the  motion 
dissolved  the  clay  and  carried  it  down  to  the  floor  of  the 
rocker,  where  the  cleats  caught  the  gold,  while  the  mud 
and  water  ran  off.  The  riddle  was  attached,  so  that  it 
could  be  taken  off  to  throw  out  the  stones.  As  one  man 
could  not  work  to  advantage  in  this  process,  two  men 
usually  associated  together  and  divided  results ;  one 
mining  the  pay-dirt,  while  the  other  worked  the  rocker. 

Our  new  arrival  still  sat  and  drank  in  the  bar-room, 
until  darkness  came  on.  By  this  time  the  miners  began 
to  congregate,  and  card-playing  and  other  games  of 
chance  became  quite  general.  The  principal  interest, 
however,  appeared  to  be  centered  on  one  card  table, 
where  one  of  the  miners,  with  a  professional  gambler  for 
an  opponent,  was  having  a  run  of  luck,  and  to  this  place 
the  new-comer  was  attracted. 

After  a  time,  however,  the  miner  began  to  lose,  and  in 
a  little  while  the  last  of  his  gold  went  to  the  gambler. 
A  dispute  between  the  latter  and  the  loser  had  already 
commenced,  and  the  result  of  the  game  brought  it  to  a 
climax,  when  the  miner  accused  him  of  cheating.  The 
gambler  quietly  asked  him  to  'take  that  back,'  as  it  was 
not  true.  This  only  incensed  the  miner  still  more  who 
made  threats  of 'getting  even 'with  him.  Upon  this 
the  gambler  drew  a  revolver  from  his  hip  pocket,  and 
shot  the  miner.  The  latter  fell.  He  was  not  killed  out 
right,  but  felt  that  his  time  was  short.  He  was  in  great 
agony,  and  cried — 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  221 

'(),  if  I  only  had  the  consolations  of  religion,  I  could 
then  meet  my  Maker  with  some  hope.  If  there  were 
only  a  priest  here '  - 

The  stranger  came  forward  and  said: 

'  I  am  a  priest,  and  will  do  what  I  can  to  prepare  you 
for  death.' 

He  then  directed  all  to  withdraw  to  one  side  of  the 
room,  while  he  administered  the  last  rites  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  church  to  the  dying  man,  shortly  after  which 
the  latter  breathed  his  last.  His  partner  and  some 
others  of  the  miners  took  charge  of  the  body,  and 
buried  it  early  on  the  following  morning;  then  they  went 
in  a  body  to  the  gambling  den,  and,  taking  the  murderer 
by  surprise,  riddled  him  with  bullets.  Then  there  was 
another  funeral. 

These  were  curious  scenes  to  the  young  priest,  and  he 
half  determined  to  leave  the  place,  and  would  have  done 
so,  if  he  had  the  means;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had 
spent  to  within  a  few  dollars  all  his  money,  and  was 
forced  to  do  something. 

The  partner  of  the  dead  miner,  who  was  known  as  Jim 
Smith,  after  the  second  murder  and  burial,  approached 
the  new-comer,  who  had  acted  as  a  priest,  and  said  to 
him: 

'Parson,  what  might  I  call  your  name?' 

<I  call  myself  here  Richard  Warburton.' 

'Did  you  come  to  these  diggings  to  work  —  to  dig 
gold?' 

'Yes;  that  is  what  I  came  for.' 

'Well,  parson,  you  did  so  handsomely  by  poor  Bill 
Johnson,  my  pard,  that  I  come  to  offer  you  his  place 
with  me.  We  have  a  rocker,  picks,  shovels  and  pans, 


222  IN  FETTERS: 

and  have  been  doing  fairly — some  days  taking  out  an 
ounce,  and  some  less,  according  to  how  we  strike  it.' 

'  My  friend,'  said  Warburton,  '  your  offer  suits  me 
exactly,  and  I  will  accept  it  with  thanks.  I  am  not  used 
to  rough  work,  but  I  am  strong,  and  can  soon  accustom 
myself  to  it.' 

It  was  settled  at  once,  and  without  delay  the  young 
priest  took  the  place  of  the  miner  whom  he  had  shrived 
on  his  departure  from  life. 

For  a  few  days  the  work  seemed  very  hard  to  the 
young  man,  but  after  a  while  he  became  accustomed  to 
it,  and  the  new  firm  was  doing  fairly  well  in  the  way  of 
taking  out  gold  from  the  river  bank  gravel ;  but,  after  all 
it  was  slow  work,  and  the  necessaries  of  life  were  high, 
but  not  higher  than  liquor  and  the  love  of  gaming,  both 
of  which  were  shared  in  equally  by  the  partners  —  that 
is,  Richard  drank  more  liquor  than  he  should  have  done, 
but  would  not  gamble;  while  Jim  Smith's  chief  passion 
was  gambling — and  he  lost  the  most  gold. 

In  this  manner  month  succeeded  month,  and  the  time 
lengthened  into  years,  with  little  progress  made  by  these 
associated  miners.  They  had  fair  luck  in  getting  out 
gold  from  the  river  bed,  and  generally  worked  hard  and 
steadily,  but  spent  about  all  they  made,  one  at  the  gam 
ing  table,  and  the  other  at  the  bar. 

It  was  in  J-une,  1854,  and  just  one  year  and  a  half  from 
the  time  that  Richard  Warburton  had  known  his  first 
mining  experience  in  the  Rough  and  Ready  mining 
camp. 

One  evening,  when  Smith  was  more  unlucky  than 
usual,  and  Warburton  had  taken  more  brandy  than  was 
his  custom  —  though  with  him  the  habit  had  grown 


THE    MAK    OR   THE    PRIEST?  223 

steadily — his  partner  came  over  to  him  and  said  — 
'  Parson,  I've  had  the  worst  kind  of  luck  —  lost  every 
pennyweight  I  had  in  the  world.  Won't  you  lend  me  a 
few  ounces,  and  see  if  I  can't  change  my  luck?' 

'  Jim  Smith,'  replied  Warburton,  '  I  would  lend  you 
the  last  pennyweight  of  gold  I  had,  if  I  was  not  assured 
you  would  throw  it  away.  Can't  you  see,  man,  that  the 
chances  are  all  against  you?  Come,  take  a  drink,  and 
we  will  talk  matters  over.' 

'  Look-a-here,  parson ;  do  you  think  its  any  worse  for 
me  to  throw  my  money  away  in  gambling  than  in  drink? 
If  I  lose  at  a  game  at  night,  I'm  able  to  go  to  work  in 
the  morning.  If  I  spend  it  in  brandy,  I'm  not  usually 
fit  for  work  next  day.  You  know  that  you  have  lost 
two  days  lately,  because  you  were  too  sick  to  go  to  work 
in  the  moring  after  drinking  too  much  over  night.' 

'  That's  true,  Jim,  quite  true ;  but  what  if  I  tell  you 
that  in  the  two  days  I've  been  up  the  gulch  I  have  made 
a  great  discovery,  which  promises  to  make  both  of  us 
rich?' 

'What  have  you  struck,  parson?'  asked  Jim,  who  at 
once  became  deeply  interested. 

'Take  a  glass  of  brandy,  and  then  promise  me  that 
you  will  gamble  no  more  until  we  have  worked  out  the 
new  claim,  which  I  have  discovered,'  said  Warburton. 

'  I'll  do  it,  on  one  condition,  parson.  If  I  must  stop 
gambling,  you  must  stop  drinking.  Is  it  a  bargain?' 

'It  is,'  answered  Warburton.  'After  to-night,  and 
until  the  claim  is  worked  out,  I  promise  that  I  will  not 
drink  a  glass  of  liquor  of  any  kind,  unless  I  need  it  for 
medicine.' 

'  Then  it's  a  go,  parson.     Now  tell  us  about  it.' 


224  iff  FETTERS: 

'  Not  here,'  was  the  reply.  '  Come  to  the  camp,'  and 
both  the  partners  left  the  saloon  for  their  sleeping  tent. 
Arrived  there,  Warburton  said  — 

'  Now,  Jim,  let  me  ask,  in  the  first  place,  if  you  have 
any  idea  of  how  this  free  gold  came  into  the  river 
bottoms?' 

'  I  suppose  it  was  always  there,  but  the  river  has 
uncovered  it.' 

'  Not  so,  my  friend.  I  have  studied  geology  enough 
to  know  that  gold  was  originally  deposited  in  veins  or 
lodes,  and,  as  these  were  broken  down  or  disrupted  by 
the  water  forcing  a  passage  through  them,  the  rocks 
moved  by  the  water  were,  in  time,  and  by  the  action  of 
the  current  and  other  disintegrating  influences,  broken 
up  and  pulverized.  Now,  it  seems  to  me  that  in  the 
ancient  river  beds  is  to  be  found  the  most  gold,  for  in 
those  beds  the  waters  ran  most  rapidly,  and  the  action 
on  the  rocks  carrying  gold  was  stronger  and  the  result 
better.  Well,  now,  where  are  those  old  river  beds? 
We  must  look  for  them  higher  up  than  the  present  river 
beds,  which  have  washed  down  through  and  in  many 
places  across  them,  leaving  sections  of  those  old  river 
beds  here  and  there  along  these  rivers.' 

'That  sounds  like  good  sense,  parson;  but  where  are 
the  old  river  beds  you  speak  of?  If  we  could  only  find 
one,  we  could  test  it.' 

'I  have  found  one — found  it  the  last  day  I  was  away. 
It  is  only  about  two  miles  up  the  gulch.  I  examined  it; 
found  the  bed-rock  of  the  old  river;  worked  into  the 
tough  clay  overlaying  it  with  my  knife  blade,  and,  after 
about  two  hours  of  labor,  got  out  enough  of  the  gravel  to 
make  a  good  panful.  Well,  I  put  it  in  my  handkerchief, 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST? 

carried  it  back  to  camp,  and  this  evening  panned  it  out. 
How  much  gold  do  you  think  I  got  from  that  panful  of 
dirt?' 

'  Well,  perhaps  a  pennyweight,'  replied  Jim. 

'I  got  fully  five  pennyweights.' 

'Great  Caesar!     Is  that  true,  parson?' 

'  It  undoubtedly  is.' 

'  And  is  there  much  of  the  gravel  there,  parson  ? ' 

'  A  vast  amount ;  but  whether  it  is  all  as  rich  as  that 
panful  is  something  I  very  much  doubt.  As  gold  is  a 
heavy  metal  and  sinks  to  the  bottom,  1  think  we  shall 
find  the  richest  dirt  next  to  the  bed-rock.' 

'Parson,'  said  Jim,  'you're  right,  and  I  think  you've 
made  a  rich  strike.  How  far  is  it  from  water?' 

'It  is  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  river; 
but  then  the  carrying  of  the  pay  dirt  will  be  down  hill, 
and  we  can  easily  carry  it  on  our  backs  in  bags,  after  we 
have  picked  it  out.' 

Next  morning,  bright  and  early,  the  two  miners,  after 
a  hasty  meal,  pulled  up  stakes  and  started  up  stream, 
with  their  tent,  mining  and  cooking  untensils,  and  a  small 
amount  of  'grub'  or  provisions  on  their  backs.  It  was  a 
rough  way  to  tramp  so  heavily  loaded;  but  in  the  course 
of  about  two  hours  they  arrived  there,  and,  after  pitching 
their  tent  and  arranging  it,  and  making  other  prepara 
tions  for  camping,  the  miners  erected  their  rocker.  By 
this  time  it  was  nearly  noon,  and  they  concluded  to  eat 
something  before  making  a  trial  of  the  new  diggings. 

Two  bas^s  full  of  material  were  taken  from  the  bed- 

O 

rock  of  the  ancient  river  at  the  place  where  Warburton 
had  obtained  his  panful.  They  were  run  through  the 
rocker;  but  the  clay  in  the  material  was  so  tough  that  it 


220  IN  FETTERS: 

was  found  very  difficult  to  wash  it,  and  Jim  began  to 
grumble  at  the  length  of  time  it  took  'to  bring  butter.' 
But  when  it  was  effected,  and  the  bottom  of  the  rocker 
cleaned  out,  an  exclamation  of  delight  escaped  him. 

'By  the  Lord  God,  parson,'  he  said,  'we've  struck  it 
rich !  Why  there's  fully  an  ounce  here  in  the  pan ! 
Parson,  give  me  your  hand.  Our  everlasting  fortune  is 
made !  I  can  see  it,  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face ! ' 

Well,  it  turned  out  just  as  Jim  said.  The  miners 
drove  a  drift  or  tunnel  in  on  the  bed  rock,  and  were 
fortunate  in  running  into  a  depression  or  pocket  in  the 
worn  bed  rock,  where  they  found  much  gold,  among 
which  occurred  a  number  of  good-sized  nuggets,  one  of 
which  weighed  over  three  ounces.  In  less  than  three 
months  the  partnership  of  Smith  and  Warburton  had 
taken  out  over  ten  thousand  dollars  worth  of  gold! 

When  tidings  of  the  great  find  reached  the  old  camp, 
it  was  quickly  removed  to  the  new  diggings,  and  the  hill 
where  the  gold  was  discovered  was  rapidly  becoming 
as  if  a  lot  of  gophers  had  attacked  it.  Every  miner 
was  making  money  more  rapidly  than  ever  before,  and 
Warburton  was  accorded  the  full  credit  of  the  discovery, 
the  camp  having  been  named  after  him  —  'Parson's 
Luck.' 

'  Well,  parson,'  said  Jim,  as  they  sat  smoking  one  fine 
evening  in  September,  after  work,  'it  seems  to  me  that 
we  have  nearly  worked  out  our  claim.  It  has  been  a 
lucky  one  for  us,  for  we  have  now  nearly  five  hundred 
ounces  of  gold.  Just  think  of  it,  pard,  we  have  about 
five  thousand  dollars  apiece.  And  I  owe  it  to  you,  pard, 
in  two  ways.  First,  you  discovered  this  claim,  and  next 
you  broke  me  of  gambling.' 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  227 

'  Well,  if  you  are  under  obligations  to  me  for  that,  I 
am  under  a  deeper  debt  to  you  for  holding  me  to  the 
compact  to  keep  from  drinking.  So,  you  see,  we  owe 
much  to  one  another.' 

'Now  what  would  you  advise,  parson?'  asked  Jim. 
'  Shall  we  look  for  a  new  prospect,  or  put  our  money  into 
the  new  waterworks,  where  they  are  going  to  ditch  the 
water  and  wash  out  these  old  river  beds  on  a  large 
scale?  You  know  they  are  doing  this  on  nearly  all  the 
rivers,  and  are  already  at  work  above  us  on  the  Ameri 
can.' 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  hydraulic  mining  had  already  been 
quite  generally  adopted  in  California,  but  on  nothing  like 
the  scale  on  which  it  was  prosecuted  a  few  years  later, 
when  the  original  '  Tom,  or  trough '  succeeded  the 
rocker,  and  was  in  turn  superseded  by  the  '  sluice '  and 
'grizzley,'  and  later  by  the  'giant'  water-thrower,  now 
familiar  to  all. 

'  Jim,'  replied  Warburton,  '  you  can  do  as  you  please. 
As  for  me,  I've  had  enough  of  a  miner's  life  to  last  me 
while  I  live.  I  am  going  to  let  well  enough  alone,  and 
start  for  my  home  in  the  East.  I  have  not  written  a  line 
to  my  people  since  I  left  home  two  years  ago,  and  I 
suppose  they  think  me  dead.  I  will  surprise  them.' 

'  I  reckon  you  will,  parson ;  and  that  reminds  me  that 
I  have  friends  in  the  South  — in  Kentucky  —  that  I 
ought  to  go  and  see.  A  wife,  too,  who  thinks  me  dead; 
and  two  sons.  They  must  be  —  let  me  see  —  yes,  Jim's 
ten,  and  Buckner's  about  eight  years.  Fact  is,  pard,  me 
and  my  wife  didn't  hitch  well ;  so  I  pulled  up  stakes, 
left  her  the  farm  and  stock,  and  lighted  out  to  California 
in  '49.  Yes,  pard ;  you're  going  to  do  the  right  thing, 


228  IN  FETTERS: 

and  I'll  follow  suit.  I  reckon,  after  all,  they'll  be  mighty 
glad  to  see  me.' 

So  it  was  settled  that  when  they  had  exhausted  the 
claim,  which  occurred  within  a  week,  they  would  pull  up 
stakes  and  leave  the  diggings.  They  traded  their 
rocker,  camping  outfit  and  mining  tools  for  a  horse,  and 
bought  another;  and  then,  on  a  morning  in  September, 
started  on  their  journey  to  Sacramento.  Here  they  sold 
the  horses,  and  took  passage  in  a  steamer  for  San 
Francisco  —  'Frisco  it  was  called,  for  brevity. 

Arrived  at  San  Francisco,  the  partners  proceeded  to  the 
United  States  mint,  where  their  gold  was  weighed,  and 
a  receipt  given  for  it.  A  hundred  dollars  was  advanced 
them,  and  they  were  told  to  call  on  the  following  day, 
after  the  assay  was  made,  when  they  would  get  paid  in 
full  for  it.  They  left  the  mint,  and  walked  down 
Market  street  to  the  water  front,  along  which  they 
strayed. 

'There's  a  fine  ship,  parson,  and  she  seems  to  be 
making  ready  to  start,'  said  Jim,  as  they  came  to  one  of 
the  wharves.  '  Let  us  go  down  and  see  her  off.' 

They  walked  down  the  wharf,  and  had  nearly  reached 
the  ship,  when  Warburton  stopped  shortly,  and  gasped 
for  breath. 

'  Hello,  parson ! '  exclaimed  Jim,  catching  hold  of  him, 
as  he  staggered,  '  what's  up  ?  Sick,  eh  ? ' 

Richard  had  seen  on  the  stern  of  that  ship  a  name 
that  brought  a  flood  of  memories  into  his  mind,  which 
nearly  overwhelmed  him.  The  name  was  — 

'AGNES  WARDEN,  CHEBUCTO.' 

It  looked  as  if  they  were  about  to  cast  off,  and,  with 
out  replying  to  Jim's  question,  AVarburton  rushed  forward 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PEIEST?  229 

and  hailed,  with  a  frantic  haste  and  a  manner  which  at 
once  commanded  attention : 

'Hold  on,  there  !     Where's  the  captain?' 

'  Here  I  am,'  replied  the  man  addressed.  '  What  do 
you  want  ?  Speak  quickly.  We  are  about  to  cast  off.' 

'  Capt.  Roderick,  don't  you  know  me  ? '  asked  War- 
burton. 

But  he  was  sunburnt,  and  had  grown  a  beard,  so  it  was 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  captain  replied  — 

'  No ;  I  don't  know  you.  What  do  you  want  ?  Be 
quick ! ' 

'Capt.  Macdonald,  if  you  do  not  know  me,  I  must 
make  myself  known  —  I  am  Richard  Gaston ! ' 

'  Good  God !  Is  it  possible  ! '  Then  turning  to  his 
men,  he  gave  rapid  orders  to  lower  the  jib  sails  already 
hoisted;  to  not  cast  off  from  the  wharf,  and  then  jumped 
ashore  to  assure  himself  of  the  truth  of  what  he  had 
heard.  He  was  quickly  convinced  that  it  was  indeed 
Richard  Gaston,  and  soon  had  him  and  his  partner  on 
board,  and  was  listening  to  the  story  of  his  experiences 
since  leaving  the  brig  Enterprise,  in  Philadelphia. 

'This  is  your  father's  ship,'  he  said,  'and  named  by 
him,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  I  command  her 
principally  because  I  befriended  you  before.' 

'Are  father  and  mother  well?'  asked  Richard. 

'When  I  last  heard  from  them  they  were,  but  I  have 
been  away  now  over  six  months.  Been  to  India,  China, 
and  have  run  across  here  with  a  small  cargo,  expecting 
a  freight;  but  have  got  but  little.  I  will  call  at 
Honolulu,  where  I  may  pick  up  some  oil  from  whalers 
for  New  Bedford,  and  will  then  call  at  Pernambuco, 
where  we  are  always  sure  of  plenty  of  hides  for  Boston.' 


230  IN   FETTEKS: 

'Any  other  news  from  home?'  asked  Richard. 

'Yes,'  replied  the  captain,  with  evident  reluctance. 
4  James  Warden  died  about  a  year  ago,  leaving  his  affairs 
in  a  bad  condition.  Your  father  was  appointed  adminis 
trator,  and  did  the  best  he  could  to  settle  up  the  estate. 
He  thought  there  would  be  but  little  left  for  the  wife 
and  Miss  Agnes.  When  I  sailed  it  was  rumored  that 
Mrs.  Warden  and  her  daughter  were  going  to  Boston  to 
live.' 

'A  pause  ensued,  when  wondering  Jim  Smith  broke 
in  with:  'Well,  parson  —  so  your  name  is  Gaston  and 
not  Warburton,  and  this  is  your  father's  ship  ?  I  always 
knew  you  were  the  son  of  some  rich  man,  who  had  left 
home  for  adventure,  and  not  because  you  were  forced  to. 
Well,  I'm  glad  I  discovered  this  ship  in  time.  I  suppose 
you'll  go  home  in  her?' 

'That  is  just  the  question  I  was  about  to  ask,' 
remarked  Capt.  Macdonald.  'Of  course  you  can  get 
home  quicker  by  way  of  the  Isthmus ;  but,  if  you  are  not 
too  impatient,  you  can  make  a  good  voyage  with  us,  for 
the  ship  is  a  good  sailer,  and  it  would  be  a  smart  clipper 
ship  indeed  that  would  show  her  its  heels.' 

'  I'll  think  it  over,'  said  Richard.  '  In  the  meantime 
I'll  write  a  letter  to  father  and  mother,  and  another  to 
Tom,  to  acquaint  them  of  my  return,  which  I  will  mail, 
if  I  go  with  you.  If  not,  I  will  not  mail  them.'  Turn 
ing  to  Jim,  lie  asked :  '  Mr.  Smith,  if  I  should  decide  to 
go  in  this  ship,  will  you  accompany  me?' 

'I'll  go  whichever  way  you  go,  parson,'  was  the 
reply. 

'  Am  I  at  liberty  to  invite  this  friend  as  my  guest,  if  I 
go  with  you?'  asked  Richard  of  the  captain. 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  231 

'  Your  friend  will  be  heartily  welcome,  and  will  receive 
the  best  of  usage  from  me,'  replied  Capt.  Macdonald. 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Richard. 

'And  I  join  the  parson  in  thanks,'  added  Smith, 
'whether  we  go  with  you  or  not.' 

On  the  following  day  the  partners  received  their 
money  from  the  mint  —  a  little  rising  five  thousand 
dollars  each,  and  Richard,  having  decided  to  go  home  in 
his  father's  ship,  the  money  and  baggage  of  himself  and 
partner  were  transferred  to  her,  and  in  the  afternoon  she 
had  passed  through  the  Golden  Gate,  and  was  well  out 
to  sea,  under  a  good  breeze  and  with  all  sails  set. 

'I  think  we  shall  have  a  good  time  rounding  the  Cape,' 
remarked  Capt.  Macdonald,  'for  the  line  gales  will  be 
over  before  we  reach  there,  and  the  weather  will  be  as 
fine  as  it  ever  is  in  that  rough  place.' 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

NEWS    FKOM    RICHARD THE    WARDENS    AND    GASTONS    IN 

BOSTON THE    PRODIGAL'S    RETURN. 

It  was  in  Chebucto,  late  in  October,  1854.  Richard 
Gaston  had  returned  to  his  home  in  the  late  evening  — 
that  is,  later  than  usual — tired  and  hungry.  His  supper 
was  waiting  him,  and  he  ate  it  with  a  relish,  saying  but 
little.  At  its  close,  and  when  they  were  seated  in  the 
sitting  room,  he  said  to  Mrs.  Gaston: 

'  I  have  been  working  so  hard,  trying  to  settle  up 
James  Warden's  affairs— which,  thank  Heaven,  I  have 


232  IN  FETTERS: 

nearly  wound  up  —  that  I  did  not  even  look  at  the  letters 
that  came  in  the  mail — there  are  several.' 

'Will  Agnes  and  her  mother  have  much  left,  Richard?' 
the  wife  asked. 

'Very  little.  Not  over  one  thousand  pounds,  if  they 
have  that.' 

He  did  not  say  that  if  he  should  exact  the  repayment 
of  the  loan  which  he  made  to  James  Warden,  there 
would  be  nothing  left ;  but  such  was  the  fact. 

'  That  is  too  bad,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston.  'What  will  they 
do  in  Boston  with  that  amount  of  money?  It  will  keep 
them  there  but  a  short  time.' 

Mr.  Gaston  took  a  letter  from  the  pile  before  him,  and 
was  reading  it. 

'Why,'  he  said,  'here  is  a  letter  which  answers  your 
question  exactly.  It  is  from  Tom.  He  says  he  has 
taken  a  house  at  the  West  End,  and  Agnes  and  her 
mother  are  going  to  run  it.  He  will  have  apartments, 
and  thinks  he  can  fill  it  with  students  from  the  Medical 
College,  who  need  such  accommodation;  and  he  can 
do  this,  as  he  is  now  connected  with  the  college  as 
instructor.' 

'  Well,  that  is  good,  and  kind  in  Tom,  too.  He  has  a 
good  heart '  — 

'  Why,  great  heavens,  wife !  Here  is  a  letter  from  — 
who  do  you  suppose?' 

'  Richard,'  she  replied,  jumping  from  her  chair. 

'  You  have  guessed  it,  Margaret.  The  letter  is  dated 
"San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Sept.  12,"  and  is  addressed  to 
"  Dear  Father  and  Mother."  Let  me  see  —  He  says  he 
has  just  returned  from  the  gold  mines,  where  he  has 
been  for  over  a  year  and  a  half,  and  has  about  five 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PKIEST?  233 

thousand  dollars  in  gold  as  the  result  of  his  work  (more 
than  he  would  make  as  a  priest  in  ten  years  at  Vignish), 
and  —  hello  !  here  is  another  surprise  —  he  has  dis 
covered  the  Agnes  Warden  in  San  Francisco,  and  has 
concluded  he  will  come  home  in  her.  Well,  wife,  dear, 
what  do  you  say  to  this  ?  Isn't  this  good  news  ? ' 

'  It  is !  It  is !  My  poor  boy  —  God  bless  him !  Com 
ing  home !  And  he  has  done  so  well,  too.  Well — well. 
How  curiously  our  lives  are  ordered.' 

'How  curiously  we  order  them  ourselves,  dear.  But, 
no  matter.  He  is  coming  home,  and  if  he  would  only 
consent  to  let  the  priestly  business  alone,  and  begin  with 
me  again,  it  would  be  a  great  benefit  to  me  as  well  as  to 
him,  for  my  business  was  never  so  flourishing  as  it  is 
to-day. 

'I  doubt  if  he  will,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston. 

'And  why  not?  If  he  could  work  in  the  mines,  why 
not  with  me.  The  property  will  all  go  to  him  and  Tom 
when  we  die.  Why  should  he  not  then  be  interested  in 
increasing  it?' 

'  O,  I  wish  Agnes  were  here  now,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston. 
'  You  don't  know  how  I  miss  her.  I  would  like  to  tell 
her  the  news  of  Richard's  safety,  and  his  return  home.' 

'  I  guess  she  knows  it  already,  for  Dick  writes  me  that 
he  has  also  written  to  Tom  in  Boston.' 

****** 

A  substantial  brick  house  on  a  quiet  street  in  the 
West  End  of  Boston  bore  the  sign  'Thomas  Gaston, 
M.D.,  Physician  and  Surgeon,'  on  its  front.  On  the 
door-plate  the  name  '  Warden  '  appeared. 

It  was  in  October,  the  same  month  as  the  events  just 
narrated  took  place  in,  but  a  week  before  that  time. 


234  IN  FETTERS: 

Dr.  Gaston  returned  to  his  home  in  the  afternoon,  and 
was  met  at  the  door  by  Agnes  Warden,  with  words  of 
welcome.  She  had  not  changed  greatly  in  the  past  two 
years,  except  that  her  face  had  an  air  of  melancholy, 
which  now  seemed  habitual  to  it. 

'I  saw  you  coming,'  she  said,  'and  I  so  hoped  that  you 
would  have  a  letter  from  home,  that  I  thought  I  would 
intercept  you.  But  I  suppose  it's  disappointment  again.' 

'  So  far  as  the  letter  from  home  is  concerned,'  said  Dr. 
Gaston,  'I  fear  it  is.  But  I  have  a  greater  surprise  for 
you  than  a  letter  from  home  would  be.  I  received  a 
letter  today  from  California  —  from  whom,  do  you 
suppose?' 

*  I  suppose,'  said  Agnes,  flushing  up,  '  it  may  be  from 
Richard.' 

'  You  have  hit  it.  Come  into  my  office,  and  I  will  tell 
you  its  contents.' 

'This  letter,'  continued  the  doctor,  after  Agnes  and  he 
were  seated  in  his  office,  'is  dated  at  San  Francisco, 
September  12.  It  tells  of  Dick's  experiences  in  the 
mines,  and  that  he  came  out  with  the  intention  of  return 
ing  home,  when  he  accidently  saw  the  ship  'Agnes 
Warden,'  and  is  coming  to  Boston  in  her.' 

'How  long  should  it  take  the  vessel  to  get  here?' 
asked  Agnes,  with  an  eagerness  which  she  was  quickly 
ashamed  of. 

'  That  depends.  If  she  would  come  direct,  she  should 
be  here  some  time  late  in  December.  If  she  has  to  call 
anywhere  for  a  freight,  she  may  be  later.' 

'  Does  Richard  say  anything  of  his  intentions  for  the 
future  —  that  is,  as  to  what  he  will  do?'  asked  Agnes. 

*  No.     He  has  saved  about  five  thousand  dollars  during 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PEIEST?  235 

his  year  and  a  half  at  the  mines,  and  can  live  without  a 
parish,  for  a  time,  if  indeed  he  ever  takes  one.' 

'  Why  do  you  say,  "if  he  ever  takes  one?"  Is  there 
any  doubt  about  it?' 

'  Well,  he  says  here :  "  I  am  not  as  yet  quite  settled 
as  to  what  I  shall  do  in  the  future.  I  have  lost  all  relish 
for  the  priestly  office  —  not  because  I  do  not  believe  in 
it,  but  that  I  feel  I  am  not  fitted  for  it.  However,  time 
and  events  will  have  to  decide."  So  you  perceive  that 
he  is  still  at  sea  in  the  matter  of  a  profession,  as  well  as 
literally.  I  wish  he  would  throw  up  the  clerical  business 
for  good  and  all,  and  settle  down  to  some  useful  occupa 
tion.  Dick  has  a  good  business  head,  father  tells  me, 
and,  if  he  would  only  go  home  with  the  old  man  and 
help  him  in  his  business,  I  think  he  would  soon  forget 
his  wild  escapades  of  the  past  four  or  five  years.' 

'  That  could  hardly  be,'  observed  Agnes.  'At  least  it 
would  not  do  for  him  to  go  into  business  in  Chebucto. 
The  people  there  would  think  it  altogether  improper*  for 
a  priest  to  leave  the  altar  and  go  into  trade.  He  might 
do  that  here,  but  not  there.' 

'I  suppose  you  are  right,  Agnes,'  said  the  doctor, 
'though,  hang  me  if»it  would  have  any  weight  with  me. 
However,  we  shall  see  what  he  will  do  when  he  gets 
home.  I  know  of  but  one  thing  that  I  think  would  make 
him  settle  down,  if  anything  would.' 

'And  what  is  that?'  asked  Agnes. 

'  To  get  married.' 

'  Oh,  you  don't  mean  that,  Tom,'  said  Agnes,  her  face 
aflame.  'That  would  be  impossible.  A  priest  can 
never  marry.' 

'  The  laws  of  Massachusetts  do  not  forbid  it,'  he  replied. 


236  IN  FETTERS: 

'  But  the  laws  of  the  church  forbid  it,'  said  Agnes. 
1  Is  not  that  sufficient  ? ' 

'Hang  the  church!  What  is  it,  and  its  laws  of 
celibacy,  as  against  a  man's  happiness?  I  would  fling 
them  to  the  winds,  and  be  happy  in  spite  of  them,'  said 
the  doctor.  '  There  is  nothing  morally  wrong  in  marry 
ing  ;  while  there  is  wrong  in  not  marrying,  if  it  would 
make  one  happy,  while  to  remain  single  entails  misery.' 

'But  would  his  parents  consent?  Think  of  the  shock 
it  would  be  to  his  mother,  and  what  a  scandal  they  would 
have  to  endure  in  consequence.  It  would  not  do,  Tom, 
— it  would  not  do.' 

'  Agnes,'  said  the  doctor,  bluntly,  '  let  me  ask  you  a 
question :  If  father  and  inc-ther  were  willing,  and  your 
mother  did  not  oppose  it,  would  you  make  any  real 
objection  to  marrying  Richard  ? ' 

'O,  Tom,'  she  said,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  'that 
is  a  curious  question  you  ask  me.' 

'Well,  Agnes,'  he  replied,  'it  is  a  pertinent  one,  at 
least;  and  you  needn't  answer  it  now,  but  think  it  over.' 

Agnes  left  the  office,  as  if  in  perturbed  thought. 

****** 

In  the  early  part  of  November,  the  members  of  the 
Warden-Gaston  household,  at  the  West  End  in  Boston, 
were  treated  to  a  kind  of  double  surprise.  Agnes 
Warden  had  just  got  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Gaston,  and  Dr. 
Gaston  had  received  one  from  his  father.  That  of 
Mrs.  Gaston  to  Agnes  said : 

'I  have  been  so  lonesome,  dear,  since  you  and  your 
mother  left  Chebucto,  that  I  fear  I  am  getting  dull  and 
melancholy.  So  I  have  persuaded  father  to  try  and  fix 
up  his  affairs,  so  that  things  would  go  on  all  right,  and 
take  me  to  Boston,  where  we  could  stay  until  the  spring, 


237 

and  where  I  could  have  some  company.  So,  my  dear, 
please  make  room  for  us  in  your  boarding  house,  and 
expect  us  on  within  a  week  or  two.' 

Dr.  Gaston's  letter,  from  his  father,  went  on  to  say : 

'Your  mother  has  been  dull  and  moping  of  late,  and 
seeing  that  she  needed  congenial  company  to  enliven 
her,  I  have  consented  to  go  with  her  to  Boston  to  spend 
the  winter. 

'  I  have  arranged  my  business  affairs  in  such  a  way 
that  I  can  leave  this  place  for  a  time.  I  am  doing  no 
shipbuilding — indeed,  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  build 
another  ship  —  and  all  that  will  be  done  in  my  absence 
will  be  store  business.  My  head  clerk  is  a  faithful  man, 
honest  and  trustworthy,  and  I  have  given  him  full  charge 
of  the  business  during  my  absence ;  and,  knowing  that 
liberality  on  the  part  of  an  employer  is  usually  an  incen 
tive  to  faithfulness  in  the  servant,  I  have  increased  his 
wages,  and  feel  that  he  sees  that  it  is  for  his  best  interest 
to  look  after  my  business  as  carefully  and  zealously  as  if 
I  were  at  the  helm  myself. 

'Another  reason  impels  me  to  go  to  Boston.  My 
advices  from  Capt.  Macdonald  lead  me  to  expect  that  he 
will  arrive  in  Boston  some  time  in  January  next.  With 
him  is  Richard,  whom  your  mother  is  all  the  time  think 
ing  and  talking  about.  His  going  away  so  suddenly  and 
unceremoniously  leads  me  to  think  he  would  not  care  to 
return  to  Chebucto,  where  his  pride  would  be  apt  to 
receive  a  shock  at  every  curious  look  and  gossipy 
whisper  he  might  see  or  hear.  So  you  see  I  am  mainly 
impelled  to  leave  my  business  out  of  consideration  to 
your  mother  and  in  connection  with  ^  Richard's  return. 
We  shall  see  him  in  Boston,  and  take*  measures  to  have 
him  settle  down  to  some  occupation  in  life — not  that 
of  a  priest,  I  hope.' 

'  There,'  said  Dr.  Gaston,  as  he  finished  reading  his 
father's  letter  to  Agnes  — she  having  read  his  mother's 
to  him  —  'father  has  hit  the  nail  on  the  head.  Dick  was 


238  IN  FETTERS: 

never  cut  out  for  a  priest,  and  would  better  abandon 
that  calling  as  a  profession.  I  know  his  pride  may 
revolt  against  it  at  first,  but  I  believe  his  love  is  stronger 
than  his  pride.' 

'But  would  not  his  conscience '- 

'  Agnes,'  said  the  doctor,  '  conscience  is  a  curious  and 
very  elastic  condition  of  the  moral  nature.  It  will  stand 
an  enormous  strain  upon  occasion,  and  may  be  warranted 
never  to  break.  A  man  who  is  honorable  will  not 
usually  do  a  dishonorable  act.  But  in  all  matters  where 
a  doubt  may  exist,  I  think  you  will  find  him  inclined  to 
give  himself  the  benefit  of  it.  I  know  Dick  has  a  good 
deal  of  the  superstitious  Irish  nature  of  our  mother  in 
him,  but  I  also  believe  he  has  a  good  deal  of  hard  Gaston 
sense.  I  am  satisfied  that  he  has  now  a  great  dislike  to 
the  priesthood,  for  he  sees  in  it  the  only  barrier  that 
exists  to  his  happiness.' 

'  But  does  he  love  me  sufficiently  to  make  such  a  sacri 
fice?'  asked  Agnes,  doubtingly. 

For  answer,  Dr.  Gaston  arose,  went  over  to  his 
secretary,  and,  opening  a  private  drawer,  took  out  a 
folded  paper,  indorsed,  'Richard  to  Agnes,'  and  handed 
it  to  her,  explaining  how  it  came  into  his  possession. 

'  This,'  he  said,  '  was  written  at  a  time,  no  doubt,  when 
he  was  in  the  act  of  committing  moral  suicide.  It  is  the 
cry  of  despair  of  a  man  who  was  about  to  immolate  him 
self  against  the  protests  of  his  heart  and  of  his  better 
nature.  Read  it,  Agnes.' 

She  did  read  it,  and  while  doing  so  she  was  a  study  to 
the  keen-eyed  doctor,  who  watched  her  closely,  while 
appearing  to  look  another  way.  As  Agnes  read  on,  her 
bosom  heaved,  and  the  roses  and  lilies  waved  alternately 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  239 

along  her  cheeks,  fanned  by  the  varying  emotions  within, 
and  when  she  had  finished  reading  it,  the  tears  were 
flowing  freely  from  her  eyes;  seeing  which,  the  doctor 
delicately  withdrew,  as  if  something  demanded  his  atten 
tion  in  another  room. 

He  was  absent  about  ten  minutes,  and  when  he 
returned  Agnes  had  dried  her  tears  and  was  outwardly 
calm.  She  handed  the  manuscript  back  to  the  doctor, 
without  remark,  and  rose  to  leave  the  office ;  but  he 
waved  a  refusal,  saying : 

'  No,  Agnes ;  the  verses  are  yours,  and  you  only  should 
have  the  custody  of  them.' 

She  stood  irresolute,  for  a  minute,  not  knowing  what 
to  say  or  do;  then,  folding  up  the  paper,  she  put  it  in 
her  bosom,  and  silently  left  the  office. 

'  I'm  not  much  of  a  plotter,'  reflected  the  doctor,  after 
the  young  woman  had  disappeared ;  '  but  I  think  I  have 
made  a  clever  attempt,  in  this  instance,  to  aid  love  in 
overcoming  artificial  barriers  —  powerful  ones,  no  doubt 
to  those  who  believe  in  their  sacredness  and  potency, 
but  to  me  would  be  as  mere  cobwebs,  which  I  would 
brush  aside  with  a  feather.  I  can  see  that  Agnes  would 
need  but  little  persuasion  to  be  induced  to  marry 
Richard;  and  he,  in  his  turn,  might  in  a  moment  decide 
to  break  the  fetters  which  bind  him,  and  become  a  man, 
who  owns  himself  and  holds  allegiance  to  no  superior. 
He  has  the  will  to  do  this,  and  the  courage,  if  he  would 
not  be  deterred  by  his  superstitious  nature. 

'He  thinks,  poor  fellow,  that  he  is  religious,  when  he 
is  simply  superstitious.  The  Catholic  religion  is  no 
doubt  a  venerable  and  respectable  epitome  of  old-time 
superstition;  and  the  Protestant  so-called  evangelical 


240  IN  FETTERS: 

religions  —  what  are  they,  after  all,  but  varied  forms  of 
the  same  superstition?  Catholic  and  Protestant  religions 
alike :  They  are  simply  the  embodiment  of  the  dreams 
of  ignorance  into  tangible  creeds  or  intangible  doctrines. 
They  claim  arbitrary  dominion  over  our  destiny;  often 
lead  us  a  life  of  misery  and  apprehension,  yet  holding 
out  the  promise  of  compensation,  in  a  world  that  has  no 
known  existence,  for  what  we  suffer  here. 

'They  tell  us  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  how  superior 
it  is  to  the  material.  What  is  the  spiritual  world,  in 
fact,  but  the  world  or  condition  of  the  mind  which  is 
recognized  as  a  mental  abstraction  —  that  state  of 
intellectual  consciousness  and  mental  activity  where  the 
mind  revels,  fancy  free,  in  the  realms  of  imagination? 
Here  the  silly  and  uninformed  mind  indulges  in  fancies 
which  are  often  as  absurd  and  grotesque  as  those  of 
dreams  are  apt  to  be ;  and  if  that  mind  belong  to  a 
preacher,  and  it  leads  him  to  the  wildest  extravagance, 
he  thinks  it  is  inspiration,  and  will  continue  his  nonsense 
and  rant  until  it  becomes  a  mental  disease  with  him. 
Then  he  communicates  his  disease  to  those  who  come 
under  his  influence,  for  mental  and  moral  contagion  is  as 
certain  as  that  of  the  common  infectious  diseases  of 
humanity.  Hence  we  have  religious  revivals,  spiritual 
seances  and  outcroppings  of  various  mental  phenomena, 
all  of  which  are  properly  traceable  to  perversion  of  the 
imaginative  faculties  of  the  brain.  Happy  the  man  who 
is  well  enough  gi'ounded  in  philosophy  and  common 
sense  not  to  be  carried  away  by  such  nonsense.  But  — 
well,  humanity  is  an  enigma,  and  life  a  paradox.' 
****** 

As  announced,  in  less  than  a  week  from  the  time  the 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PRIEST?  241 

letters  were  received  by  Agnes  and  Dr.  Gaston,  the 
parents  of  the  latter  arrived  in  Boston,  and  were  most 
cordially  and  heartily  welcomed  at  the  West  End 
mansion,  where  a  large  front  room  on  the  second  floor 
had  been  reserved  for  them,  and  furnished  with  special 
reference  to  Mrs.  Gaston's  taste,  which  Agnes  was  quite 
familiar  with. 

Mrs.  Gaston  was  especially  pleased  to  see  Agnes. 
'You  have  no  idea,  Agnes,'  she  said,  'how  I  missed  you 
and  your  mother,  and  how  lonesome  it  was  to  me  when 
you  left.  Well,  I  hope  we  shall  enjoy  one  another's 
society  during  the  coming  winter.' 

'I  know  we  shall,'  returned  Agnes.  'Nothing  could 
suit  me  better  than  to  have  you  with  us,  and  I  know  we 
shall  all  be  pleased.' 

'Yes,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston,  'and  when  Richard  comes 
home  our  family  circle  will  be  complete.' 

Agnes  blushed  so  deeply  that  she  was  fain  to  turn 
her  head  and  look  out  of  the  window,  to  hide  her  face 
from  observation.  • 

Whether  it  was  the  new  and  pleasant  associations 
connected  with  the  advent  of  the  elder  Gastons,  or  some 
of  the  potency  which  hope  instills  into  loving  hearts,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  say;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Agnes 
Warden  became  a  changed  woman.  The  roses  of  health 
bloomed  on  her  cheeks.  There  was  a  rich  sparkle  in 
her  deep  blue  eyes,  like  the  scintillations  of  the  sapphire. 
Her  step  became  elastic,  and  her  whole  bearing  buoyant. 
She  smiled  habitually,  and  her  laugh,  though  soft  and 
musical,  was  cheerfulness  itself,  compared  with  what  it 
had  been  of  late. 

In  fact,  Agnes  Warden  seemed  to  have  at  once  ripened 


242  IN  FETTERS: 

into  lovely  womanhood.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman  — 
with  few  equals. 

'Father,'  said  Dr.  Gaston,  one  day,  when  the  elder 
Gaston  was  alone  with  him  in  his  office,  'what  are  we 
going  to  do  with  Dick,  when  he  comes  home?' 

'That  is  a  thing  I  have  thought  about  frequently. 
One  tiling  I  am  convinced  of,  and  that  is  that  he  is  not 

O  ' 

fit  to  be  a  priest.     He  does  not  like  the  profession.' 

'  I  agree  with  you.  Now,  in  my  opinion,  he  will  never 
do  anything  until  he  is  anchored  to  some  domestic  con 
dition.  To  be  plain,  until  he  marries.' 

'I  suppose  you  are  right;  but  how  is  that  to  be,  when 
the  church  has  already  a  life  claim  on  him.  If  it  were 
not  for  that'  - 

'Father,  would  that  circumstance  deter  you  from 
sanctioning  his  marriage  —  which  is  not  against  the  civil 
law  —  especially  when  you  know  that  by  such  a  step  he 
would  not  only  settle  down  in  life,  but  would  become  a 
happy  man ;  whereas,  as  it  is  at  present,  he  can  not  settle 
down  and  is  not  and  cannot  be  happy?' 

'  That  is  a  question  which  involves  more  serious  con 
sequences,  Tom,  than  you  perhaps  take  into  account.' 

'I  think  not,  father.  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  have 
thought  it  all  over.' 

'But  would  Agnes  marry  him?  Would  she  brave  the 
scandal,  the  social  ostracism  that  it  wrould  entail? 
Would  her  mother  consent  to  it?  I  doubt  if  she  would.' 

'Father,  I  am  convinced  that  the  only  way  to  save 
Richard  is  to  have  him  marry.  I  have  told  Agnes  this, 
and  have  broached  the  idea  of  marriage  to  her.  At  first 
she  saw  no  possibilty  of  it,  but  I  soon  convinced  her  that 
it  could  take  place  legitimately.  She  has  never  said  she 


THE    MAN   OB    THE   PRIEST?  243 

would  marry  Dick,  but  I  know  that  if  the  consent  of  the 
other  parties  were  given  she  would  yield,  for  she  loves 
him  with  all  the  strength  of  a  strong  woman's  nature. 
Now,  father,  I  want  to  ask,  would  you  be  willing  to 
brave  the  seeming  odium  of  such  a  consummation?' 

'Would  I?  Why  not?  I  have  not  many  years  to 
live,  at  the  most.  To  see  my  sons  well  settled  in  the 
world  is  my  greatest  ambition  now.  I  feel  the  force  of 
what  you  say.  I  believe,  with  you,  that  marriage  only 
will  cure  Richard,  and  make  him  settle  down.  But'- 

'Now,  father,  hold  on.  With  your  consent,  much  as 
it  might  mortify  her  at  first,  I  think  mother  would  be 
won  over ;  for  I  know  she  loves  Dick  so  well  that  she 
would  make  any  sacrifice  for  him.' 

'  I  think  your  mother  might  be  brought  to  consent, 
though  it  would  be  a  terrible  trial  for  her.  Then,  there 
would  be  Mrs.  Warden.' 

'  If  she  saw  that  mother  and  you  would  not  object,  I 
think  she  could  be  induced  to  consent.' 

'Well,  Tom,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  'I  will  think  it  over 
and  talk  with  your  mother  about  it.  Perhaps  it  is  as 
well  to  have  the  matter  settled  before  Dick  comes 
home.' 

'  That  is  just  what  I  desire  you  to  do,  and  it  was  for 
that  purpose  that  I  have  introduced  the  subject  at  this 
time.' 

Richard  Gaston,  a  few  days  later,  at  a  favorable 
opportunity,  broached  the  subject  of  their  son  Richard's 
future  to  his  wife. 

'  You  know,  Margaret,'  he  said,  '  that  the  boy  has  no 
taste  for  the  priesthood.  He  was  never  cut  out  for  the 
church.' 


244  IN  FETTERS: 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  that  appears  to  be  the  fact. 
And  yet,'  she  added,  'he  might  become  reconciled  to  it 
in  time.  He  has  ability,  and  might  rise  in  the  profession 
— become  a  bishop.  You  know  that  there  never  was 
such  a  sermon  preached  in  Chebucto  as  the  one  which 
he  delivered.  Every  one  praised  it,  and  all  deplored 
his  sickness  and  disappearance.' 

'That  may  all  be,  Margaret;  but  you  know  what  it 
was  that  brought  on  his  sickness  —  the  discovery  that  he 
could  have  married  Agnes,  when  it  was  too  late  to  do  it. 
Do  you  think  that  he  will  ever  change  in  his  love  for  her? 
Never.  And  while  such  a  condition  of  mind  continues, 
can  he  be  a  priest?  Is  he  fit  to  be  one?' 

'But  what  can  he  do,  if  he  does  not  continue  as  a 
priest?'  asked  Mrs.  Gaston.  'If  he  goes  into  trade,  is  he 
any  more  fit  for  business,  for  the  same  reason?' 

'  There  is  a  way  out  of  it,  if  he  would  take  the  step,' 
said  Mr.  Gaston.  'He  could  marry;  and  that  would 
settle  him  down  and  make  a  happy  and  contented  man 
of  him.' 

'Marry!  My  God,  Richard,  what  are  you  saying!  A 
priest  marry!  Why  such  a  thing  would  entail  a  curse 
upon  him  and  upon  all  his  family ! ' 

'  Hold  on,  my  dear.  Before  coming  to  such  a  conclu 
sion,  consider  the  circumstances  under  which  the  boy 
acted,  and  how  much  we  are  to  blame  in  the  matter. 
You  always  wanted  him  to  be  a  priest,  and  he  never 
favored  the  idea  until  he  was  disappointed  in  love.  I 
hold  myself  equally  to  blame  in  not  setting  my  face 
squarely  against  the  boy's  rash  resolve.  Now,  we  are 
both  agreed  that  he  is  not  cut  out  for  a  priest,  and  we  do 
know  that  he  would  be  happy  as  a  married  man.  Can 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PRIEST?  245 

we  not  make  some  sacrifices  for  his  happiness  ? '  asked 
the  father,  in  an  earnest  manner. 

'I  would  give  my  life  to  make  him  happy! '  she  cried. 

'Spoken  like  a  loving  mother,  Margaret.  Now  all 
that  I  can  suggest  is  that  you  yield  a  portion  of  your 
pride.  That  is  all  the  sacrifice  that  is  called  for.' 

'But  how  about  Agnes  and  her  mother?'  asked  Mrs. 
Gaston,  '  They  would  never  consent.' 

'Agnes  loves  Richard  as  strongly  as  he  loves  her. 
Her  happiness  would  be  secured  as  well  as  his.  Her 
mother  would,  I  think,  be  ready  to  make  a  sacrifice  for 
her  happiness  as  noble  as  that  of  his  mother.  Well, 
dear,'  he  said,  rising  to  go  out  for  a  walk,  'I  leave  you 
to  consider  the  matter.  I  know  you  will  give  it  your 
best  thought.'  And  Richard  Gaston  wisely  forbore 
pressing  the  subject  farther  that  time;  and  even  made 
up  his  mind  not  to  renew  it  until  his  wife  saw  fit  to  bring 
it  up  again. 

But  the  more  he  considered  the  subject,  the  more 
strongly  he  became  convinced  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
course  suggested  by  the  doctor.  It  would,  to  be  sure, 
involve  much  scandal  at  his  home  in  Chebucto,  a  thing 
he  shrank  from  encountering,  knowing,  as  he  did,  the 
unreasoning  prejudices  of  the  general  run  of  Catholic 
people  in  such  cases.  But,  if  it  would  make  Richard 
and  Agnes  happy — and  he  believed  it  would— he  was 
prepared  to  encounter  the  odium  attaching  to  such  an 
act.  He  said  to  the  doctor,  that  evening : 

'  Tom,  I  have  spoken  to  your  mother  about  the  matter 
of  Richard  marrying.' 

'Of  course  she  was  horrified  at  the  idea  of  such  a 
thing,'  said  the  doctor. 


246  IN   FETTEBS: 

'Yes;  and  at  first  I  thought  she  would  never  consent 
to  it,  but  I  appealed  to  her  mother's  love,  and  I  could 
see  that  she  wavered.  She  will  come  around.  But 
what  do  you  think  about  Mrs.  Warden  giving  her 
consent?' 

'If  mother  is  won  over,  Mrs.  Warden  will  readily 
yield  —  of  that  you  may  be  sure.  She  is  not  so  set  as 
mother  is;  but  would  hardly  give  her  consent  if  mother 
refused  hers.  It  is  all  right,  father.  Say  nothing  more, 
but  let  them  settle  the  matter  among  themselves.  They 
will  discuss  it,  and  we  shall  hear  the  result,  in  due  time.' 
****** 

'  You  seem  disturbed,  mother,'  said  Agnes  as  she  met 
Mrs.  Gaston  after  the  interview  with  her  husband.  '  I 
hope  you've  heard  no  bad  news.  What  has  happened?' 

'  No,  my  dear,  not  bad  news  from  abroad.  The 
trouble  is  here.  I  will  say  nothing  about  it,  however, 
until  I  see  your  mother.  Where  is  she  ? ' 

Agnes,  with  a  quick  woman's  wit,  at  once  divined 
what  had  happened,  and  led  the  way  to  her  mother, 
retiring  when  she  had  ushered  Mrs.  Gaston  into  the  room 
where  she  was. 

What  passed  between  the  two  mothers  at  that  inter 
view  need  not  be  given  in  detail.  The  thing  which  they 
most  dreaded,  strangely  enough,  they  yet  desired  the 
most,  viz:  the  union  of  their  children,  because  they  saw 
in  it  the  only  prospect  of  happiness  for  both  in  this 
•world.  But  what  of  the  next?  If  it  were  a  deadly  sin 
for  a  priest  to  marry,  would  they  not  shafe  in  it  by 
consenting  to  the  sacrilegious  act?  The  alternative  was 
a  terrible  one  to  contemplate.  Should  they  peril  their 
souls  for  the  sake  of  even  their  children,  who,  though 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  247 

they  might  be  made  miserable  here  by  keeping  asunder, 
might  reap  eternal  glory  in  consequence  of  the  sacrifice? 

Thus  they  discussed  the  matter,  pro  and  con,  and  it 
seemed  too  much  indeed  for  their  poor  weak  natures  to 
decide  upon.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  strong,  natural 
love  which  a  mother  bears  for  her  offspring  —  and  there 
is  nothing  stronger  and  more  sacred  in  the  whole  cate 
gory  of  human  sentiment  than  the  unselfish  mother's 
love.  On  the  other  was  the  awful  spectre  of  the  church, 
with  one  threatening  hand  pointing  upward  and  the 
other  downward,  indicating,  'glory,  or  perdition,  which?' 
Its  voice  enjoined  the  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  its  disciples : 
'You  shall  forsake  parents,  and  wife  and  children,  and 
follow  me ! ' 

Few  persons  outside  the  Catholic  church  can  appre 
ciate  the  appalling  significance  of  the  question  presented 
to  these  believing,  loving  women.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  therefore,  that  as  they  discussed  the  subject 
they  wept,  and  dried  their  tears,  and  still  wept  again. 
Neither  should  it  create  surprise  that  they  could  not 
arrive  at  any  definite  conclusion. 

And  thus  matters  remained  for  a  week,  Mrs.  Gaston 
saying  that  she  thought  it  would  perhaps  be  best  to  bring 
her  husband  into  the  conference,  while  Mrs.  Warden 
favored  consulting  a  priest.  At  the  end  of  the  week 
Mrs.  Gaston  said  to  her  husband: 

'  Richard,  Mrs.  Warden  and  I  have  been  talking 
over  that  matter  of  a  priest  marrying,  and  can  come  to 
no  determination  about  it.  She  thought  that  we  would 
better  consult  a  priest,  while  I  held  that  it  was  best  to 
acquaint  you  with  our  condition  of  mind  on  the  subject.' 

She  then  related  to  her  husband  the  substance  of  the 


248  IN  FETTERS: 

conversation  which  she  had  had  with  Mrs.  Warden,  and 
the  tribulation  in  consequence. 

'My  dear,'  said  Mr.  Gaston,  'you  did  right  in  opposing 
the  calling  in  of  a  priest.  You  can  see  that,  while  it 
would  be  a  delicate  thing  for  a  priest  to  decide  on,  his 
duty  to  his  church  would  not  allow  him  to  do  otherwise 
than  strongly  advise  against  it.' 

'  What  shall  we  do,  then  ?  Will  you  come  in  and 
talk  the  matter  over  with  us?' 

'Yes;  and  I  would  suggest  that  we  take  Tom  into  our 
counsel,'  replied  Mr.  Gaston. 

'O  husband,  you  know  what  an  unbeliever  Tom  is. 
Would  it  be  right  to  have  him  with  us  in  the  discussion 
of  this  matter?' 

'  My  dear,  Tom  has  a  clear  head,  and  more  hard  sense 
than  all  of  us  put  together.  The  very  fact  that  he  is  an 
unbeliever  better  fits  him,  in  my  estimation,  to  look  at 
this  matter  in  a  common-sense  light  than  if  he  were  a 
believer.' 

'Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,  Richard.  Let  us 
arrange  to  talk  the  matter  over  to-night ;  and  I  will  pre 
pare  Mrs.  Warden  for  it.' 

The  arrangement  was  accordingly  made,  and  on  the 
same  evening  Dr.  Gaston  was  called  in.  There  was,  of 
course,  much  talk,  but  it  need  not  be  repeated.  Finally 
the  doctor,  after  hearing  the  discussion,  said : 

'  I'll  tell  you  the  way  the  thing  looks  to  me,  and  in 
this  light  I  think  it  is  very  simple.  You  believe  the 
church  to  be  paramount;  that  it  can  do  and  undo.  But, 
if  there  is  a  God,  he  is  undoubtedly  above  the  church, 
which  is  his  creature  or  agent.  Now,  this  God  you  hold 
to  be  just  and  good,  not  cruel.  He,  you  believe,  holds 


THE    MAN    OB    THE    PKIEST?  249 

the  lives  and  destinies  of  the  humblest  of  His  creatures 
dear  to  him.  Not  a  sparrow  falls,  but  He  takes  note  of 
it.  Now,  is  it  not  fair  to  suppose  that  such  a  God  is  as 
reasonable  and  as  charitable  as  a  good  man  would  be  ? 
Then,  show  me  the  good  man  who  would  say,  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  the  circumstances  attending  this  case,  that 
these  two  loving  hearts  would  be  doing  wrong  by  follow 
ing  the  dictates  of  their  nature,  and  uniting  their  destinies? 
And,  if  they  were  not  wrong  in  thus  seeking  a  union, 
would  we  be  held  responsible  for  aiding  and  abetting 
them  in  accomplishing  their  desire  ?  I  will  say  no  more.' 

But  what  he  said  was  sufficient.  It  carried  conviction 
to  willing  hearts.  Mrs.  Gaston  broke  the  silence,  saying : 
'  Tom,  you  have  presented  this  matter  in  a  new  light. 
The  God  who  judges  our  hearts  will  not,  I  am  sure,  con 
demn  us  for  sanctioning  what  our  hearts  approve.  I  am, 
therefore,  ready  to  risk  the  responsibility.' 

'In  the  new  light,'  said  Mrs.  Warden,  'I  see  the  thing 
differently,  and  I,  too,  will  take  the  risk  of  sanctioning 
what  my  heart  prompts  me  to  consent  to.  It  may  be 
hard  to  bear,  at  first ;  but  the  hope  that  it  will  secure 
the  happiness  of  our  children  is  sufficient  for  me.' 

'Dear  mother,  and  dear  Mrs.  Warden,  I  honor  you 
both  for  your  courage  and  your  affection.  I  think  you 
have  done  more  good  by  your  decision  than  you  could  do 
in  any  other  way  in  so  short  a  time.'  And  then  the 
doctor  left  the  room  with  his  father.  The  latter  said, 
after  they  had  reached  the  doctor's  office  : 

'  Tom,  that  was  a  masterly  argument  of  yours  —  short, 
and  to  the  point.  It  was,  under  the  circumstances,  irre 
sistible.  Now  we  want  Dick  to  come  on  the  scene.' 

'  He  will  appear  in  due  time.     In  the  meantime,  we 


250  IN  FETTERS: 

must  keep  up  the  stamina  of  the  ladies.     Agnes  will  not 
object ;  of  that  I  am  convinced.' 

****** 

It  was  near  the  latter  part  of  January,  1855,  when  the 
Agnes  Warden  sailed  majestically  into  Boston  harbor, 
with  more  or  less  of  ice  on  her  bows  and  bulwarks,  but 
with  all  well  on  board.  Dr.  Gaston,  who  still  kept  up 
his  connection  with  the  press,  had  a  ship-news  man  on 
the  alert  for  some  time  to  notify  him  of  her  arrival,  and 
when  he  heard  of  it,  he  took  a  boat  and  boarded  the 
ship  in  the  stream.  The  first  man  he  saw  on  deck  was 
his  brother. 

'  Dick,  my  dear  brother,  welcome  back  again ! '  and  the 
brothers  embraced  warmly. 

Richard  introduced  Capt.  Macdonald  and  his  'pard,' 
Jim  Smith,  and  both  these  gentlemen,  with  Richard, 
accompanied  the  doctor  ashore,  who  took  them  to  his 
West  End  home. 

'Father  and  mother  are  with  us,'  said  the  doctor,  as 
the  carriage  containing  the  four  friends  rolled  rapidly 
through  the  street.  This  was  a  surprise  to  both  Richard 
and  the  captain ;  '  and,'  he  added,  '  so  are  Agnes  and  her 
mother.' 

A  light  gleamed  in  Richard's  eye  at  this  announce 
ment. 

Arrived  at  the  Warden  mansion,  the  newcomers 
alighted,  and  there  was  a  curious  and  affecting  scene  in 
the  parlor,  when  Richard  accompanied  the  doctor  into 
the  house.  The  father  first  embraced  him,  and  then  the 
mother  threw  herself  upon  his  breast  and  laughed  and 
wept,  and  acted  extravagantly,  as  a  mother  like  her  might 
do  under  the  circumstances. 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  251 

'  My  boy !  My  Dick !  My  curly-headed  baby  boy  ! 
He  has  come  back  to  his  old  mother !  God  bless  him ! 
God  bless  my  boy ! ' 

The  scene  was  so  affecting  that  Jim  Smith  said,  to 
himself,  he'd  be  '  dog-goned  if  he  could  stand  it,'  and 
turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  that  were  coursing  down 
his  cheeks.  Poor  fellow!  He  was  thinking  of  his  own 
home  and  boys,  and  wondering  what  his  reception 
would  be. 

Merchant  Gaston  grasped  the  hand  of  his  faithful 
captain,  in  token  of  welcome,  but  could  say  nothing  at 
the  time. 

When  calm  was  restored  to  the  scene  of  the  meeting, 
Richard  introduced  his  friend  Smith,  who  received  a 
cordial  welcome ;  and  then  he  looked  around  for  some 
one  he  wanted  to  see,  above  all  others  perhaps.  While 
his  mother  was  talking  with  Smith  and  his  father  with 
Capt.  Macdonald,  Dr.  Gaston  beckoned  to  Richard,  who 
followed  him  out  of  the  room  into  his  office. 

'  Wait  here  a  moment,  Dick,'  he  said,  and  rushed  away, 
He  soon  returned,  with  Mrs.  Warden.  Richard  greeted 
her  with  nearly  the  same  affection  as  he  did  his  mother, 
and  she  kissed  and  embraced  him  as  if  he  were  her  son. 

Then  Richard  instinctively  looked  towards  the  door, 
and  there,  standing  in  it  —  a  living  picture  "in  such  fram 
ing — was  Agnes  Warden,  a  dream  of  lovely  womanhood. 
She  was  indeed  a  beautiful,  mature  woman,  with  the 
roses  of  health  on  her  cheeks,  and  a  love-light  in  her 
eyes  which  could  not  be  mistaken. 

Richard's  first  impulse  was  to  rush  to  her  and   take 

her  in  his  arms ;  but  he  remembered  that  he  was  a  priest 

—  hateful   profession  —  and  stifled  the    impulse  of   his 


252  IN  PETTEKS: 

heart.  Agnes  came  forward  in  a  frank  and  friendly 
manner,  and,  with  more  than  a  friendly  warmth,  said: 

'  Dear  Richard,  we  are  all  so  glad  to  have  you  with  us 
again  that  we  do  not  know  how  to  express  our  joy.' 

'Dear  Agnes,'  he  said,  and  his  voice  faltered,  'I  shall 
never  leave  home  again.' 

It  was  a  curious  reply;  but  the  young  man  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  saying,  though  unconsciously  he 
implied  that  the  attraction  of  home  was  now  beyond 
anything  on  earth  to  him,  and  was  therefore  binding. 
He  was  hopelessly  enmeshed  in  the  fetters  of  love.  A 
curious  condition  for  a  Catholic  priest  to  be  in ;  but  was 
it  unnatural? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

KICHARD    DECLARES    HIS    LOVE AGNES    CONSENTS THE 

DOCTOR    TO    MARRY VISIT    OF    BROTHER    IGNATIUS. 

For  perhaps  a  week  after  his  arrival  in  Boston, 
Richard  Gaston  did  little  but  sit  in  the  house  in  the 
company  of  his  father  and  the  ladies,  and  tell  of  his  life 
in  California.  Jim  Smith  was  with  him  much  of  the 
time,  and  his  '  that's  a  fact,  parson,'  frequently  uttered, 
gave  an  emphasis  to  the  young  man's  narration. 

But  this  half-dream-life  had  to  end  some  time.  Smith 
wanted  to  visit  his  family  in  Kentucky,  and  Richard 
arranged  for  the  transfer  of  his  gold  by  express  —  he 
would  take  nothing  with  him  but  the  gold.  So,  ene 
morning  there  was  leave-taking,  and  Richard  accom- 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PEIEST?  253 

panied  the  honest  miner  to  the  railway  station,  and  saw 
him  on  board  the  train. 

'Write  me  when  you  get  home,  Mr.  Smith,' he  said, 
'  and,  if  they  don't  treat  you  well,  come  back  again,  and 
I  think  we  will  get  something  for  you  to  do.' 

'  I'll  write  ye,  parson,  sure,'  he  said,  '  and  if  you  ever 
come  to  Bowling  Green,  don't  forget  to  call  for  Jim 
Smith.  And,  as  for  my  folks,  if  they  don't  treat  me 
well,  they'll  not  get  a  picayune  from  me;  and  I'll  come 
clear  back  to  Boston  —  see  if  I  don't.'  The  train  started, 
and  waving  his  friend  adieu  —  a  good,  true  man,  whom 
he  parted  with  regretfully — Richard  returned  home 
ward. 

He  walked  with  his  head  bent  forward,  and  so 
engrossed  was  he  in  his  thought  that  he  ran  plump  into 
a  gentleman  on  the  street,  who  was  walking  more  slowly 
in  the  same  direction. 

'  Pardon  me,  sir,'  he  said  and  was  passing  on,  when  the 
stranger  stopped  him. 

'I  think,'  said  the  latter  'that  we  have  met  before. 
Your  name  is  Gaston,  is  it  not?' 

'That  is  my  name,'  replied  Richard,  'and  now  I 
recognize  you  as  a  tutor  in  the  St.  Sulpice  College  of 
Montreal.  You  are  Brother  Ignatius,  if  I  mistake  not.' 

'  The  same.  Where  are  you  stationed?  You  don't 
look  much  like  a  priest.' 

'  Well,  I  am  not  a  priest  with  a  parish,  and  doubt  if  I 
ever  shall  have  one.  I  do  not  like  the  profession.' 

Then  he  related  his  experience  in  California,  gave 
Brother  Ignatius  his  address,  and  went  home. 

That  evening  he  sought  the  doctor,  his  brother,  in  the 
latter's  office. 


254 


IN  FETTERS: 


'  Tom,'  he  said, '  I  have  been  brooding  over  a  subject, 
which  I  have  heretofore  hesitated  to  speak  to  you  about, 
though  there  is  no  good  reason  why  I  should  not.' 

'Go  ahead,  Dick.  You  shall  have  an  interested 
listener  in  me.' 

'  Well  now,  Tom,  I  hardly  know  how  or  where  to 
begin.  Curiously  enough  the  accidental  meeting  with  a 
Jesuit  instructor  of  St.  Sulpice  College,  at  Montreal,  has 
impelled  me  to  seek  your  confidence  in  this  matter.' 

Then  he  told  of  the  encounter  with  the  stranger. 

'I  was  puzzling  myself,  just  before  I  ran  onto  him,' 
continued  Richard,  'as  to  how  I  would  broach  the 
subject  to  you.  Now,  in  the  first  place,  I  have  imbibed  a 
strong  dislike  for  the  priesthood.' 

'I  don't  wonder  at  it,'  replied  the  doctor.  'It  is  not 
an  enticing  profession  for  a  man  of  your  taste.' 

'No;  my  taste  is  altogether  secular,  and  —  domestic,' 
stammered  the  young  priest. 

'I  don't  blame  you  for  being  inclined  that  way,'  said 
the  doctor,  '  considering  the  prospect  before  you.' 

'Ah,'  said  Richard  'there  is  the  trouble.  The  prospect 
is  bright  in  a  way,  but  hopeless.  The  fact  is,  Tom,  I 
have  for  the  past  two  years  brooded  over  the  matter  — 
over  the  position  in  which  my  unfoi-tunate  rashness  has 
placed  me.  What  can  I  do?  Coming  home  in  the  ship, 
I  fully  concluded  to  do  one  thing,  if  it  were  possible,  and 
that  was '  — 

'To  marry  Agnes  Warden,'  finished  the  doctor.     'Isn't 
that  so.     Yes?     Well,  allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on 
your  return  to  reason.     I  was  thinking  of  that  myself  — 
not  of  marrying  her,  my  boy,  but  of   you   dping   that 
thing.' 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  255 

'  But,'  pursued  Richard,  '  I  have  no  hopes  of  overcom 
ing  her  scruples  to  marrying  a  priest,  much  less  those  "of 
her  mother  and  of  our  own  parents.' 

'Never  despair,  Dick.  Faint  heart  never  won  fair 
lady,  you  know.  Now,  suppose  she  would  consent,  and 
the  others  would  not  —  what  would  you  do  ? ' 

' 1  would  marry  her,  and  then  brave  the  consequences.' 

'Bravo,  Dick !  There  shows  out  the  old  Gaston  spirit. 
But  what  of  the  church?' 

'  I  should  brave  that,  too.  If  Agnes  would  have  me, 
I  would  risk  the  torments  of  hell  to  marry  her ! ' 

'  Now  that's  the  kind  of  talk  that  I  like  to  hear.  But, 
of  course,  you  know  what  a  scandal  it  would  create. 
Think  how  the  old  people  —  those  believing  mothers  — 
might  take  it  to  heart.' 

'I  do  think  of  it,  and  it  distresses  me  more  than  I  can 
express.  But  I  must  speak  to  Agnes,  and  get  her  to 
decide  first.  After  that  will  come  the  serious  part,  as 
affecting  the  consent  of  the  parents.' 

'  Dick,'  said  the  doctor,  '  I  have  anticipated  your 
change  of  mind  on  religious  matters,  and  your  desire  to 
marry.  I  have  tried  to  smooth  the  way  for  you,  and  I 
think  have  succeeded  satisfactorily.' 

Then  he  told  Richard  how  he  had  squarely  broached 
the  subject,  how  it  had  been  discussed,  and  how  he  won 
the  victory.  Richard  jumped  up,  like  one  transported 
with  joy. 

'  Tom,'  he  said,  '  you  are  the  best  fellow  in  the  world. 
May  heaven  bless  you  forever  for  what  you  have  done ! ' 
and  he  started  out  to  seek  Agnes. 

The  doctor  stopped  him.  '  Do  not  go  to  her  in  that 
extravagant  frame  of  mind,  Dick,'  he  said.  '  Wait  here 


256  IN   FETTERS! 

a  few  minutes  and  compose  yourself,  and  I  will  send  her 
in  to  you.' 

Sure  enough,  in  less  than  ten  minutes  Agnes  walked 
into  the  doctor's  office,  but  was  hardly  inside  the  room 
before  she  found  herself  clasped  in  her  lover's  arms. 

'Agnes,'  he  said,  'this  is  no  time  for  apology,  even  if 
it  were  needed.  We  have  both  suffered  enough  to 
dispense  with  that  or  with  prudery.  You  have  ever  had 
my  love,  and  ever  will.  I  cannot  live  without  you.  The 
church  can  be  no  barrier  to  such  love  as  ours.  We  were 
married  in  our  hearts  before  the  church  had  any  claim 
on  me.  Now,  Agnes,  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  favorable 
answer.' 

'Richard,'  replied  the  young  woman,  'I  have  always 
loved  you,  I  love  you  better  now,  if  possible,  than  ever 
before.  I  am  prepared  to  face  all  the  odium  that  may 
attach  to  the  act  of  marrying  a  priest,  and  will  marry  you 
whenever  you  desire  it.' 

Then  Dr.  Gaston  came  in. 

'  I  am  glad  to  find  you  have  arranged  this  matter,'  he 
said,  'and  I  wish  you  joy.  I  feel  that  you  have  both 
chosen  wisely.  When  the  time  arrives,  I  can  bring  in 
a  justice  of  the  peace  —  it  will,  of  course,  be  a  civil 
marriage  —  and  he  will  tie  the  knot  without  circumlocu 
tion.' 

Then  Agnes  escaped  from  the  office,  and  went  to  her 
mother,  to  acquaint  her  with  what  had  happened,  and 
the  doctor  and  Richard  started  on  the  same  errand  to 
their  parents. 

When  Mrs.  Gaston  heard  the  announcement  that  it 
was  definitely  arranged  that  Richard  and  Agnes  would 
unite  in  marriage,  she  burst  into  tears. 


THE    MAN    OR   THE    PKIEST?  257 

'Are  you  sorry  that  we  are  to  marry,  mother?'  asked 
Richard. 

'Yes;  I  am  sorry  —  and  I  am  glad.  And  I  do  not 
know  whether  it  is  for  sorrow  or  for  joy  that  I  weep.  I 
think  it  is  both.' 

But  the  time  that  the  marriage  would  take  place  had 
not  been  settled.  Richard,  of  course,  wanted  it  without 
delay;  but  the  elders  counseled  delay  for  a  week  or  two, 
at  least,  and  this  was  acquiesced  in. 

A  few  days  following  the  above  events,  Dr.  Gaston 
came  home  to  his  dinner  as  usual,  but  seemed  more  than 
ordinarily  preoccupied.  At  the  close  of  the  meal,  when 
the  servants  had  left  the  room,  he  said,  abruptly :  • 

'I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  all,  and  I  suppose  if 
I  were  not  so  hard-hearted,  I  would  either  laugh  or  cry 
—  I  know  not  which.  I  have  received  a  letter  announc 
ing  the  fact  that  Dr.  Vincent  Gaston,  of  Rome,  and  his 
daughter  Beatrice  were  on  the  eve  of  departure  from  the 
Holy  City,  bound  for  America  —  Boston,  in  fact. 
Beatrice  is  going  to  study  medicine  with  me,  as  my  wife. 
I  can't  say  whether  I  fell  in  love  with  her  when  I  met 
her  in  Rome,  or  she  with  me.  Anyhow  we  have  main 
tained  a  correspondence  since  that  time,  and  I  have 
written  to  her  that  my  mother  was  fond  of  daughters-in- 
law,  and  I  guessed  she  would  like  her.  So  this  is  my 
confession.' 

'I  can  say  this  for  your  future  wife,  Tom,  and  I  saw 
more  of  her  than  you  did:  She  is  a  good,  sensible,  lov 
able  woman,  and  would  make  a  wife  any  man  should  be 
proud  of,'  said  Richard. 

'  Thank  you,  Dick ;  that  is  my  estimate  of  her,'  said 
the  doctor. 


258  IN   FETTEKS: 

'Well,  Tom,'  said  his  mother,  'you  are  the  coolest 
wooer  I  ever  knew.  But,  Tom,  does  she  know  your 
peculiar  views  on  religion?  I  presume  she's  a  Catholic?' 

'  Nominally,  yes  —  like  her  father.  In  reality,  how 
ever,  our  views  on  religion  substantially  agree.  Here  is 
a  photograph  of  her;  '  and  the  doctor  showed  them  the 
photograph  of  a  beautiful  young  woman,  with  Italian 
features,  which  was  passed  around  and  admired. 

'I  know  you  will  like  Dr.  Gaston,  father,'  said  the 
doctor.  '  He  is  enough  like  you  to  be  your  brother. 
You  can  talk  over  family  matters,  and  compare  notes. 
He  told  me  that  the  Gaston  family  boasted  of  many  dis 
tinguished  men,  soldiers  and  prelates  —  the  church  mili 
tant  and  the  church  triumphant,  I  suppose.  I  wonder 
which  branch  we  belong  to,  the  fighters  or  the  prayers?' 

'  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  meet  Dr.  Gaston,'  said  the 
father.  'Does  he  speak  English?' 

'Yes,  and  so  does  Beatrice.  Now,'  pursued  Tom, 
'they  ought  to  be  here  inside  of  two  weeks;  and  I  have 
a  proposition  to  make:  It  is  that  Richard  and  Agnes 
postpone  their  wedding  until  the  Gastons  come,  and  we 
can  have  a  double  wedding.' 

'That  is  a  good  idea,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston.  'Are  you 
agreed  to  it,  my  children  ? '  she  asked,  turning  to  Richard 
and  Agnes. 

'We  are,'  was  the  joint  response. 

'  But,'  continued  Mrs.  Gaston,  '  will  not  your  intended 
want  to  be  married  by  a  priest,  Tom?' 

'She  will  marry  me  as  Agnes  will  marry  Richard, 
according  to  the  civil  law.  I  shall  marry  in  no  other 
way.' 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  259 

A  visit  from  Brother  Ignatius,  S.  J.,  to  Richard 
Gaston. 

The  Brother  called  one  evening  when  Dr.  Gaston  was 
in  his  office,  and  Richard  with  him.  Richard  welcomed 
him,  and  introduced  him  to  the  doctor.  The  latter 
suspected  that,  if  the  Brother  learned  later  on  of 
Richard's  intended  marriage,  he  might  endeavor  to 
shake  his  resolution  regarding  it.  To  forestall  anything 
of  that  kind,  the  doctor,  after  some  general  conversation, 
said,  abruptly: 

'  By  the  way,  Dick,  you  have  not  told  Brother  Ignatius 
of  your  intended  marriage.' 

Richard  was  confused  for  a  moment  at  this  blun-t 
suggestion;  but  he  rallied  quickly,  and  said: 

'  When  I  met  the  Brother  the  other  day,  the  matter 
was  not  decided,  and,  until  you  mentioned  it,  I  did  not 
give  it  a  thought.  Yes;  I  expect  to  marry  soon.  I  am 
not  cut  out  for  a  priest,  and  I  long  for  a  domestic  life?' 

'What!'  said  Brother  Ignatius;  'you  do  not  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you,  a  priest  of  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  contemplate  a  violation  of  your  vow  of 
chastity?' 

'That  is  precisely  what  I  do  contemplate,'  replied 
Richard,  smiling,  having  fully  recovered  his  coolness. 

'Well,  I  am  astonished,  sir.  Do  you  know  what  the 
canons  of  the  church  say  in  regard  to  such  violation  ? ' 
asked  Ignatius. 

'  Pray  tell  us  what  they  say,'  broke  in  the  doctor. 

'As  it  happens,'  said  the  Jesuit,  'I  have  them  about 
me.  in  Latin,  but  I  can  readily  give  you  a  translation  of 
the  exact  language;  and  I  think  you  should  know  what  a 
risk  you  are  about  to  take.  The  "canons  of  the  Council 


260  IN  FETTERS: 

of  Trent  concerning  orders,"  (canon  4)  says:  "Who 
ever  shall  say  *  *  *  that  he  who  has  once  been  a  priest 
may  again  be  a  layman :  let  him  be  accursed."  In  the 
"  canons  of  the  Council  of  Trent  concerning  marriage," 
the  9th  canon  is  as  follows  :  "Whoever  shall  say  that 
the  clergy  constituted  in  sacred  order  or  regulars,  who 
have  solemnly  professed  chastity  may  contract  marriage, 
and  that  the  contract  is  valid,  notwithstanding  ecclesias 
tical  law,  or  vow,  and  that  to  maintain  the  opposite  is 
nothing  else  than  to  condemn  marriage,  and  that  all  can 
contract  marriage  who  do  not  think  that  they  have  the 
gift  of  chastity,  even  though  they  have  vowed  it :  let  him 
be  accursed;  as  God  does  not  deny  this  to  those  who  seek 
it  aright,  nor  does  He  suffer  us  to  be  tempted  above 
what  we  are  able  to  bear." 

'This,'  continued  the  Brother,  in  a  severe  and 
impressive  tone,  'is  the  canon  law  of  the  Catholic  church. 
Beware,  young  man,  how  you  provoke  the  wrath  of  God 
by  incurring  the  censure  of  his  church ! ' 

Richard  was  pale  and  silent,  with  his  eyes  cast  down ; 
and  his  brother  watched  him  anxiously,  to  see  how  he 
would  meet  the  prohibition  of  the  church.  At  length 
Richard  looked  up,%  and  when  the  doctor  saw  the  settled 
purpose  in  that  look,  and  in  his  face,  he  drew  a  breath  of 
relief;  for  he  wanted  his  brother  to  fight  the  battle  on 
his  own  resources. 

Richard,  in  a  calm  voice,  and  in  eloquent  language, 
gave  the  Brother  a  history  of  his  life ;  told  him  of  the 
impulse  which  drove  him  to  study  for  the  church ;  his 
hasty  ordination,  and  later  discovery  of  the  fact  that  he 
could  obtain  the  woman  of  his  choice  in  marriage.  He 
told  of  his  sickness  in  consequence,  and  subsequent 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PKIEST?  261 

desertion  of  home  and  kindred  in  an  endeavor  to  forget 
the  past,  but  without  success.  Finally  he  spoke  of  his 
resolve  to  marry  as  the  only  solution  he  could  find  of  the 
misery  he  was  suffering,  which  unfitted  him  for  the 
priesthood. 

It  was  an  eloquent  and  pathetic  relation  of  a  singu 
larly  perverted  life  during  the  past  five  years.  The 
Jesuit  was  a  man,  as  well  as  a  priest.  He  was  visibly 
affected  by  the  narration ;  but  the  zeal  of  his  order,  and 
his  habit  of  self-abnegation,  stifled  the  man  in  him,  and 
he  said: 

'  While  I  deplore  the  circumstances  which  led  you  into 
the  priesthood,  Father  Gaston,  I  cannot  see  how  you  are 
going  to  escape  the  consequences  of  the  violation  of  your 
vow  of  chastity.  The  church  did  not  allure  you  to  its 
priesthood.  You  sought  that  of  your  own  free  will. 
You  cannot,  in  honor,  recede,  and  the  church  will  not 
absolve  you  from  your  vow.' 

'  Then,'  said  Richard,  '  I  will  absolve  myself.' 

'  You  mean,'  said  Brother  Ignatius,  '  that  you  will 
violate  your  sacred  obligation.  Well,  if  you  are  so 
determined,  you  will,  of  course,  do  it.  The  church  will 
not  seek  to  trouble  you,  or  interfere  with  you  in  any  way, 
but  will  leave  it  to  God  to  deal  with  you.' 

'  Then,'  said  Richard,  '  I  will  look  to  God,  who  judges 
the  heart,  and  who  will  be  more  considerate  to  me  than 
the  servants  of  His  church  seem  inclined  to  be.  I  do 
not  fear  the  issue.  I  will  seek  to  live  as  happily  as  I  can 
with  the  woman  I  love.' 

'  I  trust,'  said  the  Brother,  '  that  your  happiness  here 
may  not  entail  misery  hereafter.' 

'  My  good  sir,'  now  spoke   up   the    doctor,  '  will  you 


262  IN   FETTEKS: 

kindly  tell  me,  in  the  first  place,  if  you  have  any  evidence 
of  a  hereafter ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  what  do  you 
know  of  it?' 

'I  will  answer  your  questions,  sir,  briefly,  and  to  the 
point.  I  have  evidence  enough  of  a  hereafter  to  satisfy 
me ;  and  what  I  know  of  it  is  derived  from  the  highest 
authority  on  earth  —  the  Roman  Catholic  church.' 

'  That  is  well  answered,'  returned  the  doctor,  '  and  an 
answer  of  that  kind  might  satisfy  the  general  run  of 
believers  in  your  church's  infallibility ;  but,  in  the  light 
of  modern  scientific  thought,  your  answer  is  simply  an 
evasion  of  the  question.  Of  course  there  is  little  else  to 
be  expected  from  the  priests  of  your  church,  or  from 
those  of  any  of  the  churches  who  take  the  Bible  for  their 
guide,  but  belief  and  assertion.  If  my  brother  thought 
as  I  do  about  the  matter,  he  would  laugh  at  the  illogical 
idea  of  future  punishment  for  present  happiness.' 

'Dr.  Gaston,'  said  Brother  Ignatius,  'you  are  an  un 
believer  —  one  of  those  who  are  wise  in  their  own  conceit. 
I  presume  you  deny  even  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ? ' 

'  I  do,  most  emphatically.  I  also  deny  the  inspira 
tion  of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  infallibility  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  church.  And  I  do  affirm  that  the  supernatural 
element  of  that  religion  —  and  of  all  religions,  in  fact  — 
is  based  on  a  fable  ;  and  that  it  is  sustained  through  the 
superstition  of  the  people,  which  arises  from  ignorance 
of  the  laws  and  the  phenomena  of  nature,  which,  in  fact, 
the  priests  themselves  are  ignorant  of  —  it  is  so  much 
easier  for  indolent  minds  to  say  that  it  is  God's  will,  or 
a  dispensation  of  Providence,  than  to  discover  and  define 
the  causes  which  lead  to  certain  effects.  The  only  true 
basis  of  religion  is  the  moral  law,  founded  on  the  "golden 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PKIEST?  263 

rule,"  so  called,  which  is  much  older  than  Christianity, 
and  will  survive  it.  Now,  sir,  I  may  be,  to  your  mind, 
one  of  those  who  are  wise  in  their  own  conceit ;  but  you 
are,  to  my  mind,  one  of  those  who  are  wise  in  their  own 
ignorance  of  the  real  things  of  this  life.  You  are,  no 
doubt,  honest  enough  in  your  way  ;  and  a  fine  example  of 
the  parable  of  the  blind  leading  the  blind.  Then  you 
speak  of  your  church  not  persecuting  the  backslider.  It 
is  no  doubt  true.  The  lion  of  superstition,  I  am  glad  to 
say,  has  had  its  claws  drawn  out  by  modern  free  thought 
and  its  humane  results,  and  it  can  now  only  roar  to 
frighten  superstitious  mankind.  The  time  is  fast  coming, 
too,  I  think,  when,  to  use  a  Shakspearian  phrase,  it  "  will 
roar  you  as  gently  as  a  sucking  dove."  I  think,  sir,  we 
have  talked  plainly  to  one  another.  My  brother,  though 
still  a  believer  in  your  church,  has  the  courage  to  brave 
its  anathemas  when  he  is  satisfied  he  is  in  the  right.' 

'He  may  feel  that  way  now,'  remarked  the  Jesuit,  with 
a  sneer,  '  but  the  time  may  come '  - 

'  Enough,  sir ! '  interrupted  Richard.  '  I  will  not  listen 
to  such  conventional  stuff.  I  thank  you  for  calling  on 
me,  and  should  you  ever  honor  me  with  another  visit,  I 
trust  this  subject  will  not  be  revived.' 

The  Brother  now  rose  to  take  his  leave.  'I  will  not,' 
he  said,  '  trespass  further  on  your  time.  I  will  not  visit 
you  again,  unless  you  specially  request  it.  But  I  will 
say  this  at  parting :  If  you,  Kichard  Gaston,  should  ever 
need  my  advice  or  assistance,  I  hold  myself  in  readiness, 
as  in  duty  bound,  to  respond  at  any  time  to  your  call. 
God  be  with  you !  Good  evening,  doctor.' 

When  the  Jesuit  had  departed,  the  doctor  said  :  '  Dick, 
perhaps  I'm  prejudiced,  but  I  have  a  very  strong  feeling 


264  IN  FETTERS: 

against  priests  of  all  the  orthodox  denominations.  To 
my  mind  or  feeling,  I  don't  know  which,  there  is  some 
thing  crafty  and  mean  about  them  all,  with,  perhaps,  a 
few  exceptions,  and  I  always  feel,  in  dealing  with  them, 
a  desire  to  take  them  up  by  the  slack  of  their  breeches 
and  drop  them  out  of  a  third  story  window.' 

Richard  laughed  at  this,  and  remarked  that  there  were 
noble  men  in  the  priesthood. 

'  That  may  be,'  said  the  doctor,  '  but,  to  my  mind, 
'  "  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  them  all."  ' 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ARRIVAL  OF  THE    ROMAN  GASTONS BEATRICE  AS  A  FREE 
THINKER MARRIAGE    ACCORDING    TO   LAW. 

The  arrival  of  Dr.  Vincent  Gaston  and  his  daughter 
Beatrice  was  an  event  which,  though  it  was  expected, 
created  a  flutter  in  the  Gaston-Warden  household.  Miss 
Gaston  was  a  daughter  of  sunny  Italy,  with  dark,  lustrous 
eyes,  a  wealth  of  raven  black  hair,  a  handsome  face,  with 
much  character  in  it;  a  rich  glow  on  her  cheeks;  a  large, 
well-knit  form,  and  magnificent  bust.  She  looked  and 
walked  like  a  queen.  And  why  shouldn't  she?  Her 
mother  was  of  a  noble  Roman  family,  who  could  trace 
their  pedigree  back  to  the  time  of  the  Cassars.  But  her 
branch  of  the  family  was  poor,  like  many  of  the  older 
Roman  houses;  but  they  were  proud,  and  at  first  resented 
her  mother's  marriage  to  an  alien  French  doctor.  This 
lasted  only  for  a  short  time,  and  the  reconciliation  was 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  265 

hastened  by  the  fact  that  the  doctor  was  one  of  the 
ablest  men  in  his  profession,  especially  in  midwifery,  in 
which  branch  he  was  in  great  demand,  and  reaped  a  rich 
harvest,  so  that  at  sixty-two  years  of  age  he  was  in  good 
circumstances. 

Beatrice  at  once  became  a  favorite  with  all  the  ladies, 
and  was  especially  liked  by  Agnes.  The  Roman  doctor, 
and  Richard  Gaston,  senior,  at  once  fraternized.  It  was 
a  curious  fact  that,  while  apart  they  greatly  resembled 
one  another,  when  seen  together  that  resemblance  was 
not  so  striking.  However,  they  were  soon  warm  friends, 
and  compared  family  pedigrees  to  such  satisfactory 
results  that  they  became  fully  convinced  of  the  existence 
of  a  distant  relationship  between  them. 

Now  that  the  Roman  bride  was  arrived,  preparations 
for  the  double  wedding  were  at  once  begun. 

'  I  wonder,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston  to  Beatrice,  that  you 
would  choose  such  a  positive  fellow  as  my  Tom  for  a 
husband.' 

'I  like  him,'  said  Beatrice,  'because  he  is  strong  and 
positive.  I  detest  these  weak  men  whom  a  woman  can 
order  about  like  a  servant.  If  I  had  such  a  man  for  a 
husband  I  would  despise  him  and  make  a  slave  of  him. 
Man  is  by  nature  the  aggressive  element  in  humanity. 
Woman  though  not  the  weaker,  yet  the  more  timid 
element;  because  she  is  protected  and  provided  for  by 
the  man.  If  the  man  fall  into  the  second  place,  the 
woman  assumes  his  functions,  and  hence  becomes  the 
ruling  element.  To  my  mind  such  a  condition  is  not 
natural.' 

'What  do  you  think  of  Tom's  peculiar  ideas  of 
religion?'  asked  Agnes. 


266  IN   FETTJiKS : 

'I  glory  in  them,  they  are  so  strong,  so  positive,  and 
so  original  with  him/ 

'  But  are  you  not  a  Catholic  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Gaston. 

'O  yes — in  name.  It  is  simply  a  fashion  with  us  in 
Rome.  We  do  not  believe.  It  is  only  the  pilgrims 
who  come  to  Rome  who  are  believers.  Native  Catholics 
are  nearly  all  free  thinkers;  that  is,  all  the  educated 
ones  are.' 

'  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  the  infallibility  of  the 
Pope  and  all  that?'  asked  Agnes. 

Beatrice  laughed.  'Yes,'  she  said,  '  we  believe  in  it 
in  a  material  way.  The  Pope,  as  the  head  of  the  church, 
is  infallible  in  the  matter  of  the  church's  business.  As 
to  saving  souls  —  who  can  tell  us  of  his  success  ?  Who 
knows  if  there  are  souls  to  save?' 

'  Do  you  mean  to  gay  that  the  Roman  people  generally 
believe  as  you  do  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Warden. 

<O  yes;  all  the  educated  ones  do.  The  ignorant  are 
still  believers  —  still  have  faith  in  the  church,  and  think 
the  Pope  infallible.' 

'Are  your  educated  people  moral?'  asked  Mrs.  Gaston. 

'Yes,  as  the  world  goes.  They  are  better  livers,  I 
think,  than  the  believing  class.  We  look  for  scandal 
and  immorality  in  the  church  more  than  out  of  it.' 

'To  return  to  our  boy,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston.  'Why  have 
you  chosen  a  doctor  for  a  husband  ?  You  know  how 
disturbed  his  time  is.  Tom  is  called  up  nearly  every 
night.  I  should  not  like  such  a  husband  as  that.' 

'My  father  is  a  doctor,'  replied  Beatrice,  'and  what 
my  mother  could  put  up  with  I  think  I  can,  especially 
where  love  is  in  the  case.' 

'  Then  you  do  love  Tom,'  said  Mrs.  Gaston. 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  267 

'  I  adore  him,'  said  Beatrice.  '  He  is  my  beau  ideal  of 
a  man.  He  is  outspoken,  truthful,  honest,  courageous, 
and  gentle,  as  such  men  always  are.  When  he  says  a 
thing  I  know  he  means  it.  He  is  no  diplomate,  who  tries 
to  conceal  what  he  means  in  ambiguous  phrases,  but 
rather  tries  to  express  himself  in  language  that  makes  his 
meaning  plain.' 

'He  says  he  will  not  be  married'by  a  priest  or  church 
man,'  said  the  mother.  '  How  .do  you  like  that?' 

'  That  suits  me.  If  we  are  married  according  to 
human  law,  it  is  to  my  mind  fully  sufficient.  I  am  tired 
of  the  pomp,  ceremony,  and  I  may  say  the  hollo wn ess  of 
church  marriages.  It  often  seems  to  me,  like  a  sacrifice 
offered  on  the  old  Pagan  altars,  when  virgins  were 
immolated  to  appease  the  supposed  wrath  of  some  suppo- 
sitious  God.  I  want  none  of  these  church  ceremonies. 
My  marriage  to  my  husband  is  altogether  in  the  .way  of  a 
mutual  agreement,  and  concerns  us  principally.  All  we 
care  for  is  the  sanction  of  the  civil  law.  That  is  simple, 
and  it  is  enough.' 

Agnes  heard  this  brave  declaration  with  pleasure,  and 
it  had  a  wonderfully  enlivening  effect  on  her  mind.  '  I  am 
glad  to  hear  you  talk  so  sensibly,'  she  said. 

'  Well,  sister,'  returned  Beatrice,  '  I  trust  that  we  may 
be  able  to  illustrate  in  our  lives  and  experience  that 
church  rites  are  not  necessary  to  human  happiness.' 

'You  talk  just  like  Tom,'  remarked  Mrs.  Gaston. 

'That  is  the  way  I  like  to  talk,'  was  the  reply. 
****** 

The  marriage  of  the  brothers  Gaston  took  place  one 
Friday  evening,  in  the  latter  part  of  February,  1855,  in 
the  parlor  of  the  West  End  mansion.  No  one  but  the 


2b8  IN    FETTEKS: 

members  of  the  family,  two  of  Dr.  Gaston's  intimate 
associates  in  the  Medical  College,  and  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  were  present.  Neither  brides  nor  grooms  were 
apparently  dressed*  for  the  occasion,  the  brides  being 
plainly  attired,  with  roses  and  lilies  in  their  hair. 

To  the  mothers — Mrs.  Gaston  and  Mrs.  Warden  —  it 
was  a  strange  and  curious  scene,  as  compared  with  their 
own    well-remembered    weddings;    but   they    did    not 
express  any  disappointment,  but  wept  in  a  quiet  way  — 
a  kind  of  mutual  condolence  as  well  as  mutual  sympathy. 

People,  as  a  rule,  are  naturally  conservative.  They  do 
not  like  new  things.  No  matter  how  extravagant  or  how 
grotesque  a  thing  may  be,  if  it  has  been  done  before,  and 
is  familiar  —  has  become  the  fashion  —  it  is  accepted 
without  question  as  being  all  right.  But  any  innovation 
—  any  new  thing — no  matter  what  its  merits  may  be,  is 
regarded  with  suspicion  and  even  hostility.  Why?  A 
horse  traveling  along  the  road  will  be  frightened  by  the 
movement  of  a  piece  of  paper  which  is  propelled  by  the 
force  of  the  wind.  For  what  reason  is  he  frightened? 
Simply  because  he  does  not  understand  why  a  thing  like 
that  should  have  life  or  movement,  not  because  things 
have  not  such  attributes,  but  because  he  did  know  that 
the  movement  was  produced  by  a  simple  current  of  air. 

The  justice  of  the  peace  was  one  of  those  old-time 
men  who  were  brim-full  of  philosophy  and  good,  old- 
fashioned  human  nature.  He  did  not  know  the  circum 
stances  which  induced  the  parties  before  him  to  choose 
this  form  of  ceremony;  but  he  knew  there  must  be  some 
good  reason  for  it.  He  therefore  thought  fit  to  say: 

'My  friends,  you  have  called  for  my  services  to 
perform  the  marriage  ceremony  according  to  the  civil 


THE    MAN    OR    THE    PRIEST?  269 

law.  This  is  as  sacred  and  as  binding  as  if  performed 
by  the  highest  ecclesiastical  authority,  for  it  is  done 
under  the  sanction  of  the  great  and  glorious  old  state  of 
Massachusetts. 

'Now,  join  hands.  You,  Richard  Gaston,  agree  to 
take  this  woman  for  your  lawful  wedded  wife?  ' 

'I  do,'  was  the  response. 

'And  you  Agnes  Warden,  agree  to  take  this  man  as 
your  husband?' 

'  I  do.' 

'  Then,  by  the  virtue  of  the  power  conferred  on  me 
by  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  I  pronounce  you 
man  and  wife.' 

The  same  questions  and  similar  responses  were  asked 
and  given  in  the  case  of  Thomas  and  Beatrice  Gaston, 
and  the  ceremony  was  ended. 

That  was  all  there  was  to  it.  The  thing  was  simple, 
direct,  and  to  the  point,  and  was  good  in  law.  To  the 
contracting  parties  it  was  an  engagement  for  life.  To 
the  justice,  it  was  a  generous  fee  of  ten  dollars. 

There  was  a  supper,  of  course,  and  wine  among  other 
things.  Dr.  Vincent  Gaston  and  Richard  Gaston,  senior, 
drank  wine  and  made  merry,  but  neither  the  grooms  nor 
their  brides  would  drink  any. 

This  was  the  simple  marriage  of  the  brothers  Gaston, 
just  what  the  plain  taste  of  the  elder  liked,  however  much 
a  different  ceremony  might  have  been  preferred  by  the 
mothers. 

Before  separation  that  evening  the  elder  Gaston  said 
to  his  children : 

'  My  dear  children,  I  have  only  this  to  say  to  you:  In 
your  voyage  of  life  be  true  to  one  another.  Bear  with 


270  IN  FETTERS: 

one  another's  peculiarities  and  oddities  —  we  all  have 
them.  Above  all,  understand  one  another,  and  be  not 
over-exacting  in  your  mutual  intercourse.  I  am  satisfied 
that  you  love  one  another.  Never  let  love  degenerate 
into  jealousy,  which  is  a  mean  thing,  for  it  implies  sus 
picion  of  honest  good  faith.  No  true  man  or  woman  will 
ever  prove  unfaithful  to  a  good  friend — how  much  less 
to  a  bosom  companion,  a  partner  and  friend  for  life.  I 
hope,  my  dear  children,  that  your  lives  may  be  happy, 
and  that  you  may  live  long  to  be  useful  in  the  world.' 

Said  Dr.  Vincent  Gaston:  'My  dear  young  friends 
and  children,  —  you  will  understand  how  much  I  regard 
my  daughter's  happiness  when,  at  my  age,  I  have  come 
on  so  long  a  journey  —  and  at  such  an  inclement  season 
—  to  see  her  well  and  properly  settled.  I  will  say  that 
I  am  repaid  this  night  to  see  her  the  wife  of  the  man  of 
her  choice  —  not  an  unworthy  one,  I  am  convinced.  I 
have  nothing  to  add  to  what  my  kinsman  has  said, 
except  to  impress  on  you  the  necessity  of  courage  and 
forbearance  in  all  the  trials  and  vexations  of  life.  Be 
true  to  yourselves  and  to  one  another,  and  the  problem 
of  life  presents  but  few  difficulties  which  cannot  be 
cheerfully  and  successfully  encountered.  May  you  be 
happy,  is  my  best  and  only  desire.' 

Thus  ends  the  romance  of  four  young  people,  now 
entered  into  a  partnership  to  continue  the  business  of  the 
world.  They  have  not  started  out  with  any  flourish  of 
fashion's  trumpets,  but  in  a  quiet  and  modest  way,  with 
the  determination  of  making  the  most  and  the  best  of 
life.  It  was  a  proper  and  noble  ambition  of  true  and 
earnest  people.  Shall  we  not  wish  them  success  ? 


THE    MAN    OK    THE    PRIEST?  271 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THIRTY-FIVE    YEARS    LATER EPITOME     OF    HAPPY    LIVES. 

My  last  chapter  practically  rounded  out  my  story;  but, 
as  this  is  an  unconventional  novel,  I  shall  take  the  reader 
into  the  households  of  the  Gaston  brothers  in  the  year 
1890,  just  thirty-five  years  after  their  marriage. 

Richard  Gaston,  senior,  and  his  wife  had  passed  away 
peacefully  some  fifteen  years  before.  Mrs.  Warden 
survived  them  nearly  five  years.  Both  ladies  died,  as 
they  had  lived,  devout  Catholics. 

The  brothers  Gaston  and  their  good  wives  had  been 
blessed  with  children.  Richard  was  the  father  of  five 
healthy  children  —  three  sons  and  two  daughters  —  long 
since  grown  to  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  all  were 
married.  Dr.  Thomas  Gaston's  Roman  wife  was  the 
mother  of  six  children,  all  healthy  and  hearty  —  three 
sons  and  three  daughters — two  of  the  sons  and  the  three 
daughters  having  been  married  early  in  life. 

The  comely  wives  of  these  brothers  began  some  ten 
years  before  to  count  their  grand-children,  and  the 
prospect  is  that  the  number  will  increase  as  the  years  go 
on,  and  the  Gaston  tribe  will  not  lack  representatives  in 
the  coming  generations. 

Thomas  Gaston,  a  hale  and  young-looking  man  for 
sixty-five,  still  continued  in  active  practice,  in  Boston, 
though  his  youngest  son,  Dr.  Thomas  Gaston,  jr., 
relieved  him  to  the  extent  of  answering  unseasonable 
professional  calls. 

Richard  Gaston  had  prospered  in  business,  at  first  in 


272         IN  FETTERS:  THE  MAN  OR  THE  PRIEST? 

Boston,  but  in  1875  had  moved  to  one  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  States,  where  he  started  in  the  business  of 
miners'  supplies.  He  had  been  far-seeing  enough  to 
invest  in  the  city  real  estate,  and  this,  together  with  his 
mining  interests,  had  made  him  a  millionaire. 

The  married  life  of  the  Gaston  brothers  had  been  a 
happy  and  prosperous  one.  No  domestic  cloud  had 
dimmed  their  day  of  life.  Their  children,  who  had  been 
carefully  reared  and  nurtured,  and  taught  the  valuable 
lesson  of  self-dependence,  were  their  pride  and  comfort. 

Neither  Agnes  nor  Beatrice  ever  went  to  church. 
Neither  did  the  brothers.  They  lived  the  problem  of 
what  they  both  believed  to  be  true  religion  in  their 
homes  and  in  their  intercourse  with  the  world,  and  both 
were  highly  respected  by  all  who  knew  them. 

The  children  of  these  good  people  had  been  brought 
up  without  the  aid  of  church  or  Sunday  school,  and 
taught  that  true  piety  consisted  in  upright  conduct  and 
in  the  strict  observance  of  the  golden  rule. 

They  had  all  received  a  good  education,  and  were,  by 
temperament,  culture,  and  habit,  fitted  to  be  the  best 
kind  of  citizens  for  a  republic  in  which  personal  worth 
should  count  for  everything. 

It  may  be  added  that  Dr.  Gaston  had  not,  up  to  three 
years  ago,  found  his  ideal  church.  He  was  still  as 
radical  as  ever  in  matters  of  religion. 

He  still  sighed  for  his  '  church  of  the  future,'  as  he 
was  wont  to  call  his  pet  conception,  but  it  is  doubtful  if 
he  will  realize  it  in  his  lifetime.  He,  however,  enjoyed 
the  consolation  of  a  feeling  of  personal  freedom  and  self- 
ownership,  which,  it  is  safe  to  predict,  he  will  retain  to 

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